Dropping Eaves
by Answer
Summary: How would the story have been different if the secret of the curse had not been kept so well? AU.
1. Listening at Doorways

Barely an hour after the girl had arrived, Cogsworth called an emergency meeting. Cogsworth liked calling emergency meetings. Cogsworth also liked calling weekly meetings, kitchen staff meetings, spontaneous meetings – in fact, any kind of meeting at all. He liked the way he could stand up and everyone would turn and look at him attentively. For a couple of seconds, at least, they appeared to be taking in everything he said, and that cheered him up. It never lasted, of course. In the old days, Lumière had become so efficient that he and Babette could regularly have staked out a good hiding place and be rounding second base before Cogsworth had finished clearing his throat. But, even if only for fleeting moments, Cogsworth felt as though there was some kind of order to proceedings and he liked it. This was the eighth meeting of the week, and there was now the added thrill of having a real emergency to discuss.

"Ahem. Ladies and gentlemen," he began. "As I'm certain you are all aware, recent developments have given us a renewed prospect of the imminent improvement of our current situation." He paused, waiting for the assembled staff to cheer enthusiastically. They looked at one another and blinked, bemused.

Lumière took a break from what he was doing, which was whispering something to Babette that was not fit for young ears, and translated for the benefit of his colleagues. "There's a girl in the castle!"

This prompted the expected cheering. Cogsworth waited for it to die down.

"Yes, yes, all well and good," he continued. "But unless we exercise extreme caution, we could have a grave problem on our hands. It is absolutely imperative that I introduce new measures to be followed by all staff. From now on, there is to be no mention of spells, curses or enchantresses under any circumstances, is that understood?"

The enchanted objects shuffled and looked as confused as it is possible to when your body hasn't been designed to support a face.

"_Pourquoi?"_ called Babette, after a moment.

"Well," replied Cogsworth, flustered. "Because… because it is vital that the girl has not so much as a whisper of an idea about all this."

"Why not?" That was Chip. After all, Belle seemed nice enough, but… well, the Master had always been scary, but ever since that spell – he didn't think anyone could be as brave as all that. And the Master needed someone to be his special friend if Chip was ever going to get to be a boy again.

The cry was taken up. "Yeah, why not?"

"The enchantress didn't say anything about it having to be a secret, did she?"

"I don't know, I was minding my own business down in the kitchen! Next thing I know, bang, I'm a spoon!"

Mrs Potts volunteered her help. "Now, now, everyone. We mustn't get too excited. Don't forget, this spell was supposed to teach the Master about looking beyond appearances. Now, supposing we tell this young lady everything. We tell her that the Master is really a prince –"

"And a handsome one, if memory serves," Cogsworth interjected.

"Precisely. We tell her that all she has to do is fall in love with him and the curse will be broken. He'll be human again." She paused, looking around. Her colleagues appeared thoughtful. She continued. "Now, I'm not accusing the girl of being mercenary, though we can all see easily enough that when you've riches such as the Master has, it doesn't take much more than knowing that love will make him beautiful to make him an appealing prospect. Even supposing she's the lovely girl she seems to be – and look at what she did for her father – it won't take her long to realise that she can save him from total despair. She'll pity him so much that saying those three words might seem like the only thing she can do."

"But isn't that what we want, Mama?" asked Chip. "I thought Belle could save us."

"_Ce n'est pas l'amour_," Lumière observed, extinguishing a flame and letting his arm sidle around Babette's 'waist'.

Mrs Potts shook her head. "Lumière's right. It's not love. Not really. You can love out of greed or you can love out of pity, but somehow I don't think either will save us."

Babette dodged teasingly out of Lumière's range. "But if the enchantress said nothing, how can we be sure?"

Cogsworth decided it was high time he regained the limelight. "It's not a risk we can afford to take," he said. "And I will therefore be issuing sanctions to anyone caught mentioning the curse during the girl's stay in the castle. Is that clear?"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the kitchen. A moment later, there was a general surge of movement towards the door. The meeting was over.

In the corridor outside, Belle drew back from the door as an assortment of unusual-sounding footsteps approached it from the other side. Instinctively, she turned and hurried back down the passage, taking refuge in the doorway by which she had entered. She waited there until the majority of the objects had walked past.

Walking objects. How on earth had she got used to the idea so quickly? There couldn't be many situations where watching a dish and a spoon literally run away together was actually one of the less surreal things one had recently been presented with. But there it was.

She hesitated, then pushed the door open again and stepped into the now-deserted corridor, continuing along it to the kitchen door, which she opened.

There were three – should she call them people? She thought about what she had just heard. Yes, for the moment, people seemed to fit. There were three of them left in the room.

"Splendid to see you out and about mademoiselle!" called the clock, cheerfully. She smiled, distractedly, and only just remembered her original purpose in coming down to the kitchen in time.

* * *

She decided during dinner that her best course of action would be to remain silent – for now, at any rate. She had no idea what she had overheard, and until she had had time to think it over, she didn't think it wise to give anything away.

She didn't regret having listened at the door. True, it was rude – and it certainly held true to the old adage that those who listen at doorways seldom hear any good of themselves – but on the other hand, she was hardly here of her own free will. She was the prisoner of a monster in a castle and surrounded by talking objects. If that didn't give her license to listen at walls – well, she thought, stubbornly, she didn't care.

She tried to piece together what she had heard. The one they called the Master – she had already surmised that that must be that Beast of a creature who had imprisoned her father. He was, as, if she were to believe was she had heard, the object-people were, cursed.

Did she believe in curses? She'd always loved the idea of magic, certainly, but…

On the other hand, did she believe in talking candlesticks? Not really. But nonetheless, there was one in front of her who was serving her a three-course meal, which made things a little more complicated.

And this 'Master', this fearsome creature who ruled here – what was she to make of him?

_It is vital that the girl has not so much of a whisper of an idea about all this. _

_All she has to do is fall in love with him and the curse will be broken._

They couldn't mean her, surely? As though it wasn't enough that she had lost everything she had ever hold dear to her, now this?

_The Master's not so bad once you get to know him._

She had reacted badly enough to that.

_I don't want to get to know him! I don't want anything to do with him!_

And with good reason. He was a _monster_. She genuinely believed that.

And yet…

What did he want with her anyway? Well, she knew that – didn't she? It had been one thing to overhear, another to grasp the sense of what she had learned.

He didn't mean to kill her. Not as far as she could make out. What would be the point of exchanging Papa for her, of giving her her own room, of offering her the help of his servants, if he meant only to kill her.

Horrible images flashed into her mind, things she'd read in books or tall stories she'd overheard in the marketplace. She pushed them aside. She could become stricken with terror that way, and then what would she be able to do?

She decided to test the waters a little.

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly go to bed now," she gushed. "It's my first time in an enchanted castle, and…"

The expression on the clock's face told her all she needed to know.

* * *

The corridor at the top of the West Staircase was in direct contrast to the splendour and beauty of the halls below her. Everything looked as though it had been found on the scene of a particularly violent burglary, moved to a castle and then deserted for several years. She caught sight of her reflection in a broken mirror. She looked pale and scared. Not as defiant as she was aiming for, then. She took a deep breath, coughing dust.

She felt slightly guilty about having given her guides the slip. Their legs – if a candlestick could be said to have legs – were, after all, a bit on the short side. But on the other hand, she felt rebellious. Whatever the reason, the residents of this castle were hiding secrets from her, and she intended to discover as many of them as she could. She felt she had little to lose at this point. Overly dramatic, perhaps, but she felt she deserved it.

It took her a moment to build up the courage, but she managed to open the door. The room she discovered beyond it was worse even than the corridor. She recoiled for a moment, horrified.

She'd always wondered what it would feel like to be totally enchanted by something. The rose had her from the moment she cast eyes on it.


	2. The Rose

On the balcony, the Beast stared at the stars. He wasn't really looking at them, but they gave him a focus, somewhere to direct his eyes. He had his back to the room deliberately. When he turned around, he would see it again. The rose. It was such a small thing, such a tiny, insignificant thing – and yet so much depended on it. He had never cared for anything so much, nor loathed anything so entirely. That rose controlled him.

He heard her come in. For a moment, he forgot where he was and the danger he was in and found himself delighting in the fact that she was so close. It had to be her. There were only three other individuals who would dare to come here and none of them had the wherewithal to open a closed door. Neither could they make the sound of human footsteps.

Human. When had he last been so close to anything that matched that description?

If he turned around, then for a moment he could observe her, unseen. He tensed, adjusting his position slightly. Then he turned.

In the room, barely three or four paces from him, the girl was reaching out to touch the rose. The glass jar was gone, nothing was left to protect it. In that moment, in the movement the girl was making, he could see everything he had longed for, every hope he had begun to allow himself to feel, being crushed in an instant. If she touched that rose, if any harm came to it…

He lunged forward, no longer aware of what he was doing. He had only one thought now, he could only think about the rose. He had to protect it.

Belle looked up at him, feeling a blind panic replacing the fascination that had filled her before. For that moment, her head was empty of everything but sheer terror. The creature before her was huge, scary and angry – and that was all her brain had the capacity for. She watched, frozen, as it – he – curled protectively about the rose. Though her immediate thoughts were still driven by terror, somewhere at the back of her mind she began to see how fiercely he guarded the rose, as though it were something more precious to him than anything else.

Then, assured she was no longer going to damage it, he turned on her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I – I'm sorry." Belle was surprised she managed to say anything at all. Of course, what she did say was useless to her anyway.

"I warned you never to come here!" His voice grew louder now, more angry. As though the anger were replacing another emotion. "Do you realise what you could have done?" His voice had now risen to a shout, filling the room with an echoing, powerful noise.

Incredibly, it was at that moment that Belle felt her horror subside. For a moment she stood still, her forehead slightly creased. She was thinking.

Curiosity had always been Belle's weakness. It had led her directly to the one part of this castle she had been forbidden to enter. It had compelled her to try and find some understanding, some confirmation of what she had overheard. It had brought her to this moment.

She looked at the Beast again, forced herself to look past the fangs and fur and into his eyes. Was it true? Was there a man there? She stared shamelessly, desperately trying to find human emotion there. There was anger, certainly, but that wasn't all. She thought about the way he had tried to protect the rose. No, it wasn't just anger that she could see. There was fear there, too.

Fear? Of what?

What could she do to him?

She thought about what had been said in the kitchen.

_It's not a risk we can afford to take…_

This took place in barely a moment, which was all the time Belle had in which to make her decision.

"GET OUT!"

The shout was enough to shake the very walls of the castle – certainly enough to remind Belle of her fear. She retreated, taking cover behind what looked like half a chair, as though it could offer her some kind of protection.

"Wait!" she called.

Though it was not the effect he would have aimed for if he had stopped to think about it, subconsciously the Beast had certainly expected the girl to run. This caught him off-balance and he hesitated.

"What?" Belle asked, her voice growing stronger, displaying bravery she could not honestly have said she felt. Part of her wished she could turn and run and not stop until she was home with her father. "W-what could I have done?" She wanted to see it, she realised. She wanted to see whatever he was hiding.

The Beast didn't know what to do. He stared at the girl with the same intensity her gaze had burned into him. Her eyes were downcast now, as though she were waiting not for an answer but for some kind of judgement on her. He remembered the way she had recoiled from him, screamed for her father, cried as though she would never stop – something within her had changed. He didn't know what to say. He hated this awkwardness, this strange feeling of having been caught between conflicting emotions – part of him had been willing to go to any lengths to protect the rose, part of him had screamed for him to restrain himself, to stop him from hurting the girl. The fear had won, almost completely.

He watched her raise her head slightly, looking at him. Now he remembered her words.

_I don't want to get to know him! I don't want to have anything to do with him!_

No, of course not. She'd never see past this, he'd be a fool to think otherwise. How could she, with this fear and anger controlling everything he did? Sometimes he wondered whether there would be anything to see.

He couldn't answer her question. She couldn't know.

"Get out," he said, more quietly this time.

Before Belle could phrase another question, the Beast had turned away. He faced the rose, his back to her. Belle looked at him for a moment, then moved away. Somehow she knew that there was nothing more to be done here. She closed the door behind her and walked quickly back in the direction of her room.

As her footsteps died away, the Beast picked up the mirror.

"Show me the girl," he whispered.

* * *

"Of course, I consider you, Lumière, to be the perpetrator of our current predicament." Cogsworth mimicked his colleague. "'You can count on me, mon capitan!' Oh, yes. Next thing we know, there she is in the kitchen and you're as surprised as anybody. Then she wanders off and you don't even notice!"

"Ah, so it is my fault. How silly of me, I thought it must have been something to do with your scintillating anecdotes. 'Perhaps mademoiselle would like to hear a detailed history of every piece of furniture we pass between here and the bathroom!' How is it that you never have any luck with women, Cogsworth?"

"Well, if you'd have kept a closer watch on her…" Cogsworth trailed off. "Oh no."

Lumière noted the panic in his voice. "What is it?"

"You don't suppose – you don't think she's gone…_up there_, do you?"

"Where, the West Wing? After you told her there was nothing up there of interest?"

"Well, yes, I suppose I did, but…"

"Of course she did," Lumière finished. "I cannot say I blame her."

Cogsworth barely noticed the dig. "Oh, no. This is very bad."

"Relax, Cogsworth. What do you think she's going to do, take a leaf out of the Master's book and trash the place?"

Cogsworth glowered at him. "I was thinking more along the lines of a certain rose giving away a certain game which I don't think you want us to lose."

Lumière froze. "Perhaps you have a point."

"Good. Now, might I suggest we go and _find her_?"

"Good idea. Follow me!"

"No, Lumière, you follow me – Lumière? Wait!"

* * *

Belle preferred not to wonder what time it was. Night had been approaching for hours now and the only light still remaining came from the moonlight that painted her surroundings a delicate silver. Her wardrobe snored gently, but Belle wasn't tired. She sat on the window seat, staring out. There was snow falling past her window. She knew that if the blizzard didn't subside soon, the path through the woods to the village would soon be impassable. Not that it made any difference. She was stuck here now. She had made her promise.

She thought about what had passed earlier that evening. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn't have explained her fascination with the rose. It was as though it held some power over her, willing her to come closer, to reach out, to touch it.

And he had been worried then. She had seen that. But why? What was that rose? What was its power?

And who was he? Could she believe what she had overheard? It had been so bizarre – but then, so was this. For heaven's sake, her wardrobe was _snoring_!

Suppose she was to believe everything she had seen and heard that day, what then? She was the prisoner of a man transformed by some spell or curse into a monster. Her companions were similarly enchanted, objects and furniture. She supposed then that she was not the only prisoner here – but she was the only one that that Beast, the 'Master' had the power to free. The others all depended on… on her.

It was this that unsettled her the most.

_It won't take her long to realise that she can save him from total despair._

How much rested in her hands?

The object-people seemed nice enough. They didn't seem to want her to be kept prisoner any more than she wished harm to them. If it had been simply a matter of uttering some magic words, of doing something for them, she would gladly have done so. After all, she had no right to deny something she could freely give to anyone who needed it. But… love?


	3. Small Talk

Cogsworth had called another meeting. An emergency meeting, naturally – two genuine emergencies in as many days! He would have been quite giddy with excitement if it hadn't been so imperative that he remain thoroughly alert. After all, he was head of the household. In times like this, it fell to him to keep things running smoothly. More or less. Within reason.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, asserting himself by standing on the tallest thing he could find, which happened to be a rather disgruntled chair. "We find ourselves on the brink of a crisis situation. As those of you currently, as one might say, 'in the loop' will be aware, there has been something of a breakdown in communications between our employer and his lovely, ah, guest."

A murmur went round the room. Appendages scraped the stone floor awkwardly. Then, as one body, the occupants of the kitchen turned to Lumière for clarification.

"The girl will not come out of her room and the Master will not go to speak to her," Lumière obliged.

A ripple of understanding swept through the room, punctuated with mutterings of "Oh, I _see_!" or similar.

Cogsworth coughed. "Thank you, Lumière," he said, grudgingly. "Now, as I am certain will be utterly and completely obvious to all and sundry, the essential thing here is to determine an immediate course of action in order that we might facilitate an imminent reconciliation."

"We need a plan," Lumière translated, casually.

"Precisely," said Cogsworth, eager to reclaim his audience. "Now, I propose that we divide our resources so that the various tasks involved in achieving our aim may be delegated to appropriate..."

He was cut off, unexpectedly, by Mrs Potts.

"Oh, tosh," she said, feelingly. "We don't need any such thing! What we need is to _speak _to them. Convince them that they _want_ to see each other. You can force them into the same room if you like, but you know the Master's temper – and it has to be said that the girl may well be able to hold her own in an argument with him should the time come for that."

"It's true," mused Lumière, absently lighting his right hand. "A plan probably wouldn't work, all things considered."

"What... _no_ plan?" Cogsworth's eyes were wide with temporary shock.

Mrs Potts smiled gently. "I'm afraid not. It seems to me that we'll need to be careful, now more than ever."

"You want to... _talk_ to the Master about this?" Cogsworth stuttered.

Mrs Potts and Lumière nodded in unison.

Cogsworth hesitated, then coughed. "Ahem. Well, even so, I still feel that it would be appropriate to perhaps _delegate_, you know, a _little_..."

Glances were exchanged. Lumière hid a smirk.

"All right then," said Mrs Potts, instantly becoming as bustling as a teapot can. She was more or less resigned to the day ahead. "Lumière, you go and talk to Belle." She heaved a quiet sigh. "I'll do my best with the Master."

"Excellent," said Cogsworth. "I'll just... uh, there are some things I have to... I'll be in the parlour." And with that elegant riposte, he scurried from the room.

Lumière raised wax eyebrows. "_Bonne__ chance_," he said to Mrs Potts.

"You too," she said, adding under her breath: "We'll need it."

* * *

Belle sat on the edge of her bed, staring across the room at the fireplace. A little flame wavered in it, but the roaring fire she had woken up to had all but died. She longed for a book to pass the time, but she could not bring herself to ask any of the 'servants' for one. None of them would be able to lift a volume anyway. A book would have to bring itself.

Though it would not remotely surprise her if one did.

"Are you _sure_ you're all right, dear?" asked the wardrobe, tentatively. She had introduced herself, actually. What was it? Mme. De La Grande Bouche. She must remember to call the servants by their names.

"Yes, thank you," she replied, automatically. _There's nothing I like better than being held prisoner by a great monster who needs my love to free him from a curse._

She could feel the irony in this. It radiated from everything around her – the four-poster bed, the view over an endless garden... the magic furniture.

"_Isn't this what you've always wanted?_" whispered a little voice in her head. "_All those dreams that made you so __**different**__, so __**special**__ – isn't this it? It's all here; the romance, the magic. Isn't this what you've always __**dreamed**__ of_?_"_

But she hadn't imagined it would be like this. She wanted to be swept off her feet, not shouted at. He was cursed, but in a way that was somewhat by the by in the world of fantasy she had pretensions at inhabiting. She hardly had grounds for prejudice. But more than that – he was _rude_. He had nothing more to recommend him than his royalty.

_And the fact that until someone sets him free his servants are prisoners too._

The injustice of it brought tears to Belle's eyes. There really was no easy way out of this. Her choices were limited. She could refuse point-blank – perhaps even try to run away. But where would that leave her? With the knowledge that she had torn away a lifeline from the seemingly innocent object-people who had been so kind to her? The cruelty of the idea was obvious. Yet what was the alternative? There were no magic words she could say to solve her problems. What they wanted from her was _love_. And she could not love the monster who would have kept her father in that tower.

There was a tapping noise at the door.

"Who is it?"

"Lumière, _cherie_. May I come in?"

"Yes."

There was an awkward pause.

"Uh... _mademoiselle_?"

"Yes?"

"Could you, perhaps, lend me a hand?"

Belle flushed. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She leapt to her feet and opened the door.

Lumière hopped in. Belle closed the door and returned to her place on the bed. Mme. De La Grande Bouche and Lumière exchanged significant looks which Belle pretended not to notice.

"Is everything all right, _mademoiselle_?"

Belle shrugged. "For a prisoner, I'm very comfortable."

Lumière sighed. "I'm sorry things are this way, _cherie_. We all are. If it helps you, the household staff will think of you only as our guest, never a prisoner."

Belle shifted, aware again of the unpleasant position the servants' 'Master' placed everyone in. "Thank you, Lumière," she said, awkwardly.

Lumière coughed. "I'm afraid I come here with a..." He hesitated. How best to put this? "A request."

Belle looked away. "From _him_?"

Lumière winced. She wasn't making this easy. "Not from the Master, no. From us."

"What is it?"

"Will you at least... speak to him?"

Belle bit her lip, thinking. Despite her best efforts, she wouldn't be able to stay in her room forever. Sooner or later she would have to speak to him again. It wasn't as though she had done anything wrong, she reasoned. She had felt quite brave the last time they met. It was just that with each day that passed, she felt less inclined to face him again. But it was inevitable, so she resigned herself to it.

"All right."

* * *

The Beast glowered at the rose, swishing his tail in agitation.

"No," he growled, hoping it sounded final and forceful.

Mrs Potts ignored the attempt. She knew better than anyone the workings of the Prince's temper tantrums and if anyone could convince him of anything, it was she. "Master, you can't stay in here and avoid her forever. She won't fall in love with you just because you want her to and you won't break the spell by avoiding her." She took a breath, then played her ace. "The petals are falling faster now."

If he had had any more force left in his facial muscles, the Beast's scowl would have deepened. As it was, he just grunted.

"Well?"

"I can't." His expression changed to one of desperation and Mrs Potts knew she was making headway. "I don't know what to say to her."

Mrs Potts cast a critical eye over him. For all his fearsome bulk, she could see a child in there, fighting with a sullen teenager – and, yes, a man – for control. "You could start," she said, "with small talk."

"Small... talk?" He was puzzled.

"Ask her how she is. Talk about the weather. Small talk is talk about small things. And then," she added, cautiously. "You might try apologising."

The Beast opened his mouth, a roar of "_Apologise? For what? She should apologise to me for going against my orders_!" poised and ready to go but, with a heroic effort on the part of his tongue, he reigned it in, settling for a strangled "Apologise?"

"Yes. And while you're at it, make sure it doesn't happen again. You'll frighten the poor girl to death, and then where will we be?"

He could tell she was exaggerating, but he didn't like the idea.

"All right," he muttered, reluctantly. "I guess I could give it a try."


	4. She Knows

The Beast shifted uneasily in his chair. Barely three feet away, Belle crossed and uncrossed her legs repeatedly, smoothing her skirt. Mrs Potts poured two cups of tea just for something to do. Lumière reflected on how much fun he and Babette could be having elsewhere. Cogsworth stood in the corner virtually shaking. This was the most tense situation he had been in for years and he wasn't going to let a chance to get fully wound-up pass him by.

Belle found some of the brazenness she had used that night in the West Wing. "Is your rose all right?" she asked. It was a careful question. She wanted to find out whether she had inadvertently caused damage, but she also needed to gauge his mood. If he had any other possible state than 'furious'.

The Beast grunted, glancing at Mrs Potts. She gave him a look that could only be described as 'significant'.

"Yes," he said.

Lumière coughed.

_Small talk_, thought the Beast. _Talk about small things._

"Uh... how... are you?" he asked, lamely.

Mrs Potts closed her eyes, praying the girl would give him a chance.

"Fine," Belle replied, stiffly. "How are you?"

"Fine," he repeated.

Silence reigned again. The servants exchanged looks of desperation.

Cogsworth took it upon himself to take action. "Perhaps _mademoiselle_ has some particular interest about which we may discover more, hmm?"

Belle couldn't blame him for trying. After all, he didn't know she knew about the curse. For all he knew, her reluctance to talk was a result of the Beast's temper, appearance and tendency to take people prisoner. All of which seemed to Belle to be not unreasonable excuses. However, she would have to humour him.

"Well," she said. "I do love to read."

The effect of this statement was something akin to, well, turning down Gaston. Everyone froze.

"Uh-oh," Cogsworth muttered.

"Oh dear," said Mrs Potts, under her breath.

Lumière contented himself with something unprintable and French.

The Beast turned sharply away from her, a low growl in his throat.

Belle thought she might be about to cry, so she quickly lowered her gaze.

"_It's not right for a woman to read. Soon she starts getting ideas and... thinking..."_

Mrs Potts was the first to come to the rescue. "What kind of books, dear?"

Belle had an answer, of course she did. To an interested, indulgent ear, she could have spoken for hours about her favourites. But here? She looked across at the Beast. He was scowling into the fireplace. She knew he didn't care what books she read any more than he cared that her father could have died up in the tower or that she desperately wanted to go home.

And anyway, what would she say? Romance? That would make her look like just the silly little girl he must want her to be. Adventure? What could be more exciting than making conversation with someone who would be prepared to throw furniture at you? Magic? She had had her fill of that now, hadn't she?

Poor Mrs Potts was waiting for an answer.

"Just stories," Belle sighed. "Just good stories."

Lumière had a brainwave. He edged over to Cogsworth and whispered in his ear. Mrs Potts watched with interest. She knew Lumière well enough to guess at what he might have planned. She was reluctant to get her hopes up, but – well, it could just work.

The conversation had trailed off again. Mrs Potts pushed some tea towards the Master, whispering "Say something nice."

The Beast floundered, looking desperately at Belle. What could he say? He had never done anything like this before. "You look... nice." He glanced at Mrs Potts, who nodded. "That's a nice dress."

Belle flushed, cringing slightly. In any other situation, his clumsy compliments might have been endearing. But here, it was mostly likely that they were calculated for exactly that, and she would not allow herself to be stirred by such underhand tactics. Or _any_ tactics. It was a case of 'out of the frying pan, into the fire' here. She would probably never see Gaston again, which was one welcome side-effect to her imprisonment. Yet here she was in the company of someone cut from much the same cloth but with a curse thrown into the mix. It was like some kind of bad dream. Would she never be free of those who assumed she would be overcome with adoration for a man simply because that was what he wanted? It certainly seemed as though she would never be free of this one.

Besides, it _wasn't _a nice dress. She had accepted the offer of a new dress from Mme. De La Grande Bouche because she had been wearing her blue one long enough for it to have become uncomfortable. The wardrobe's taste, however, seemed to run to the frilly, flouncy and generally hideous. Belle had accepted a white one with a pink trim and now felt awkwardly like the cake that had appeared in front of her house along with Gaston's wedding party.

"Thank you," she said, with barely a ghost of a smile.

Lumière caught the Master's gaze and gestured for him to continue.

The Beast hesitated. "Do you like your room?"

All right, so he was taking a little interest in her welfare. That put him above Gaston – but then, Gaston hadn't had servants to put him up to it. And Gaston didn't particularly _need_ her. He just _wanted_ her.

"Yes, thank you. It's beautiful." And it was. Big and cold and empty, but _beautiful_, with all its ornate carvings and enormous windows.

She wasn't sure how long she could keep this up. Was it even fair of her? The Beast could keep going with this stilted dialogue until one of them died of old age, but he'd be wasting his time. And what about the servants? They needed to know. She couldn't let them sit there in false hope that she'd one day look innocently into the eyes of the Beast and fall in love, ignorant of the reality of the situation.

"And you have everything you want? My servants are attending you?"

Belle almost bristled with indignation on the servants' behalf. He really was the rudest creature she had ever come across! To ask whether the _servants_ were good to her! They were some of the nicest people she knew, while _he_...

She took a few deep breaths. He was sealing his own fate. If only it wasn't tied to that of the servants.

She couldn't do this any more. She knew their secret, for better or worse – it was time they knew hers.

"Listen," she said, addressing Mrs Potts, Lumière and Cogsworth more than their master. "I'm so sorry – I have to tell you. I know."

Sometimes, the mind automatically jumps to the worst possible conclusion. Unfortunately, sometimes it is correct.

Mrs Potts' heart sank. "Know what, dear?"

"About the..." She hesitated. "The curse. I heard you talking." She looked down. What more could she say? "I'm sorry."

This silence was truly absolute. The servants stood frozen. Lumière's flames disappeared as though blown out by a breeze. Cogsworth forgot the time. Mrs Potts felt as though the tea inside her had run cold.

There was a chilling sound of ripping fabric. The Beast's claws embedded themselves in the arms of his chair. Belle could almost taste her own horror, feel a scream building in her throat. She reached out towards him, meaning to touch his arm in a gesture of apology. His arm moved sharply and she withdrew. She felt a sudden flash of understanding – an idea of what was going through his mind. Had she made a mistake? She knew enough about his temper. Would he be angry that the servants had allowed her to overhear? Suppose she had got them into terrible trouble? She held a hand to her mouth. She had handled this the wrong way.

Without warning, the Beast stood up and turned for the door, knocking his own chair out of his way as though it were weightless. Belle cowered in her seat as the chair crashed into a cabinet of some kind, causing a vase to crash to the floor. In another moment, he was gone.

"It's not your fault, dear," said Mrs Potts, wanting to make her feel better out of habit more than anything else.

Belle stared at her long and hard, then burst into tears.


	5. The Girl Situation

The Beast spent a full ten minutes destroying furniture before a coherent thought presented itself. He worked his way across the room, wrecking anything that was big enough to hit. He only stopped when a table leg sailed too close to the rose. With the urge to destroy things suddenly drained from him, he went over to it, and it was then that he began to think.

Though what was there to consider? It was all over now. The girl had been a last chance – his only chance, if he was honest. Young female trespassers were regretfully hard to come by. And he'd taken note of the difference – he _had_ given her a room rather than leaving her in the tower. Didn't that count for something?

But that wasn't the point. That didn't matter. He might as well let her go – she could do no good here now. Not if she knew. He understood why it had to be a secret. It had been part of this from the very beginning.

"_I'll just find a girl and tell her," he had announced to Mrs Potts, as a selfish, self-assured teenager._

"_What's that, dear?" She had sounded weary, but listened all the same._

"_Well, this curse. It's easy. I'll find a pretty girl, tell her I'm really the prince and that if she says she loves me she can have all the dresses she wants and lots of nice food, and it'll be over."_

"_I don't think it's going to be that easy, dear. I only wish it were."_

Of course he would _prefer_ for her to know, if it were only a case of words. If a girl had only to agree to marry him, for example. Marriage was just a contract. He could explain the situation and see that the girl was well looked-after once the marriage had taken place and everything was as it should be. Even if the girl were difficult to live with, it would be a small price to pay to be human again.

But that wasn't the case. The chance had been there before him and suddenly it had been snatched away. He was doomed, now. The rose wouldn't live for much more than a few months and it wasn't as though he could expect a second girl to simply wander in. No, he was hopeless now. And furious.

They had betrayed him a second time, all of them. First they had allowed that man to break his solitude. And now... now a few words overheard had ruined his only chance to be saved. There was no hope now. How could they have done this to him?

Deep in his heart, he knew he could not blame them. But for the next few hours, he did his absolute best.

* * *

"Well, Lumière," said Cogsworth, as the two of them waited for the select few colleagues that Cogsworth had elected to invite to this, his third meeting since the advent of what he liked to call 'The Girl Situation'. "I do hope you realise the seriousness of what you've done."

Lumière blinked, taken by surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"Well, Lumière, one hates to point the finger of blame – particularly when one has no fingers – but it does seem to me that your careless talk has cost us all rather dearly."

"_My_ careless talk! I suppose you mean what _I_ said when _I_, in _my _capacity as head of the household, called a meeting to discuss this! How dare you, you... you... _clock_!"

It was lame and he knew it. The failed insult hung vaguely in the air and the two men looked at each other for a moment, each one gradually coming to terms with the absolute pointlessness of the argument.

"Lumière?" Cogsworth began, eventually.

"_Oui_?"

"I'm sorry."

Lumière heaved a sigh. "So am I."

Mrs Potts entered the room a moment later, followed at a short distance by Babette and, because she hadn't had the heart to force him to stay in his cupboard, Chip.

Lumière kissed Babette gently on the cheek by way of greeting. Her expression was sombre and she did not hold his gaze for very long. Chip huddled against his mother, sensing that the general mood was that something terrible had happened.

Cogsworth began, though without his usual relish. "Well, dear friends, it would seem that the game is up. Our task was never going to be an easy one, but I think we may now safely say that we have forfeited our chance."

It was melodramatic, but the message hit home. Lumière held Babette close, for once his thoughts only of trying to offer some sort of comfort. Babette stifled a sob and longed for hands with which she could wipe away the tears that were beginning to fall down her face. Mrs Potts closed her eyes and offered a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. They didn't deserve this. None of them did. Not even the Master had ever done anything appalling enough to deserve such torture. The hope that the girl had brought had reminded them all what happiness felt like, and now they were worse off than before. If the Enchantress still maintained control over the castle beyond her original curse, then she had a cruel sense of humour. If she were not responsible... did such bad luck really exist?

Only Chip did not share in the general melancholy of the moment. He looked around, puzzled, then said; "Mama – what's the matter with everybody?"

Mrs Potts opened her eyes, swallowed her tears and tried to find a smile for her son. "Love, do you remember what Cogsworth was saying yesterday about how no one must tell Belle about the curse?"

Chip grinned enthusiastically. "Yup, sure do! I haven't told her a thing!" He frowned. "Did somebody else?"

"No, dear – she heard what we were saying."

"So... is that bad? Does it mean she's going to go away?"

"No, love, but if she knows the Master is under a curse, she won't be able to fall in love with him."

If Chip seemed unusually quiet whilst Cogsworth delivered a depressing speech to his assembled colleagues, Mrs Potts could have been forgiven for assuming that it was because he was trying to come to terms with the fact that he was stuck as a teacup forever. She had searched her mind for words of comfort, but nothing came. What could she say?

Chip, however, had missed the dark significance of what his mother had told him, and was in fact pondering a question. Namely, _why_ wouldn't Belle be able to fall in love with the Master? Wasn't it better now that she understood why he looked that way – and that he wouldn't always?

The Master wasn't bad all of the time. He shouted a lot and broke things on purpose, but he wasn't _always_ bad. Sometimes Chip saw him and didn't think he looked scary at all, just sad. And Belle was kind and beautiful. Wouldn't Belle be his friend? Belle wasn't angry with Mama, or Lumière, or Cogsworth, and they were all under the curse too. Mama might have got it wrong.

Without saying anything, Chip slipped away, the sound of his movement muffled by carpet. Mrs Potts, watching rain lash the windows outside, didn't notice.

It was quite an effort to get as far as the West Wing, but Chip was faster than he looked. His jumps echoed in the cold stone corridor, but he felt brave enough today to go all the way to the Master's room. The door had been left open a little and he peeped through the gap. The Master was standing out on the balcony with his back to the rose, looking out across the forest.

Chip thought of a plan.

Belle's room was on the other side of the castle, but she, too, had a view of the forest and she, too, was looking at it when Chip entered.

"Hi, Belle!" he said.

She turned and Chip could see she had been crying. "Oh, hello, Chip."

Chip hopped across the room and into Belle's outstretched palm. "What's the matter?"

"I miss my father," she said. She held him up to the window. "Look. On the other side of those trees, there's a little village. That's where I live. It's ever so small, with little houses and a little market square, but it's full of people. They make things and sell things and call out to each other in the street and they all know each other's names and most of them are happy."

"Do you like the people?" Chip asked, straining to try and catch a glimpse of this place.

"Some of them," said Belle. "Some of them are kind, like your mother. Some of them are leaders like Cogsworth. Some of them are children, like you, and they play together in the street. Some of them are in love like Lumière and Babette. But some of them..." She trailed off. _Some of them are like your Master,_ she thought, bitterly. "Well, some of them don't like me because I'm not like them."

"Belle?" Chip began, slowly.

"What is it, Chip?"

"Do you like us, Belle?"

Belle gave a little smile. "I like you and the others very much, Chip."

"And the Master?"

"I don't know, Chip. I don't know what I can say about your Master."

* * *

In the West Wing, the Beast lowered the magic mirror and stared at the rose. It seemed even worse now. She could have been the perfect girl. There was something about her that drew him – though he couldn't be sure that it wasn't his own desperation. If this had worked out better... well, perhaps he _could_have loved her.

It was too late now, though. Nothing he could do. No way out.

He went back to looking out across the forest. Some time later, there was a knock at the door.


	6. Never, Ever

Belle had her doubts about this. She had a vague idea that she had been brought up to do things for her own reasons. If there was reason behind this – and she couldn't think of any offhand – she didn't think it was hers. Unless crippling guilt was a reason, in which case this was fully and completely her own.

She glanced downwards. What had started out as a confident stride down the corridor outside her room with only Chip for company had changed as she crossed the building to become a slow, slightly trembling walk down the West Hall with a small, nervous army behind her. By the time she reached the door to what could only be described as the Beast's lair, her hands were shaking embarrassingly. She held them up to the door and they virtually knocked for themselves.

Some moments earlier, as Belle and her backup marched undetected down the corridor, the Beast had been talking to himself. Actually, to be more accurate, he had been talking to the rose, pretending it was Belle. He was thinking seriously about letting her go. Ever since that night he had led her from the tower, he had known deep down that what he was doing was wrong. And if he had been able to rationalise it when she was his hope, there was certainly no excuse for keeping her now.

Truth be told, it gave him something else to think about. Although part of him had always been resigned to it, he wasn't ready. He liked the feeling that thinking he had a chance at freedom had given him. The sooner he gave himself long enough to think about it, the sooner he would sink completely into darkness.

He faced the rose. It was of no use other than a prop now, after all. "Uh, um. I... I just wanted to say that, uh... I mean – no." He scratched his neck. "That's not right. Belle, after what you... after you said that... once I realised..." He sighed. If he couldn't manage this in front of a flower, what was he going to do when...

There was a knock at the door.

Outside, Belle stared at her hand as though it had acted of its own accord.

Mrs Potts gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'll do the talking first, dear," she said, kindly.

"Thank you." Belle answered in a whisper without thinking about it.

"Master?" said Mrs Potts. "It's me, dear. May I have a word?"

Inside, the Beast hesitated. It was, he reflected, lucky that his servants were presently incapable of bursting in unannounced. He wasn't sure about the idea of having Mrs Potts bear witness to his conversations with enchanted flora.

He crossed the room and opened the door, looking down out of habit. He was looking at Belle's shoes. He lifted his gaze quickly.

"I, uh – oh. It's you." He wasn't sure how to react so for a moment his brain just froze. He turned away and moved into the room to get some space. He wasn't prepared for this.

Belle glanced at Mrs Potts, then took a deep breath and entered the room.

She avoided looking at the rose, just because she didn't want to think about the trouble it had caused. She still didn't know where it fitted into this strange scenario, but the memory of that night still frightened her, as did the Beast. He was powerful – and animal. How much of the man did the curse hide – and how much did it take away completely?

They spoke at the same time.

"Belle-"

"Listen-"

They both looked away awkwardly for a moment. The Beast scraped his claws nervously on the ground.

"You first," he grunted, eventually. The objects found this very interesting.

Belle flushed. "I just wanted to say – I am truly sorry I can't help you. Or them," she added quickly, gesturing behind her. "I know... I know you know why I can't. If it were something else, I'd do it." She paused. "Despite what you did to my father," she said, more quietly, adding a silent "_And to me"_.

He didn't reply immediately. He looked at the rose, the balcony, the shredded portrait in the shadows. Then he looked briefly at her before returning his attention to the dusty floor. "Thank you," he said, gruffly. Was this the moment? She might hate him again in a minute, it would be better to set her free than to have her run away. If she left now she'd have a clear run through the forest before nightfall. He opened his mouth to begin.

She interrupted him before he'd started. "Anyway, since I've given you my word that I'll stay, we may as well at least try to get along." This was what Chip had pointed out to her in her room. Like it or not, she was stuck with the 'Master', possibly for the rest of her life. She wasn't sure how long she could reasonably expect to sulk for.

He stopped, his mouth still open. Suddenly what he had planned to say – however he would have ended up saying it – wouldn't come out. He had been about to offer her her freedom, but now? He looked at her for a moment. One eyebrow was raised and she had her arms folded. He coughed. "Uh... all right."

"Right," said Belle, unaware that she had just shot herself in the foot.

There was a silence as they both tried and failed to think of a way to proceed.

Cogsworth, who felt he had been left out of proceedings for too long, took a step forward. "Ahem. Perhaps _mademoiselle_ would not be adverse to joining the Master for luncheon?"

Belle shrugged. "All right."

* * *

"I don't understand," said Cogsworth, on the way to the kitchen after Belle and the servants had parted ways. "Does this mean we're in with a chance again? I thought we'd decided that if the girl knew, then the game was up. I distinctly remember calling a meeting to discuss just that." 

Lumière decided it was perhaps better to keep his comments on the latter point to himself. "Well, it is as Chip said. There is no reason two people trapped in a castle together should not at least try to be friends. And, my dear Cogsworth, where there is friendship, there is a chance for _l'amour_ to grow, _non_?"

"That's all very well," Cogsworth countered, managing to argue even without being sure of his point. "But she'll see straight through it."

"Perhaps," said Lumière, thoughtfully. "We shall see."

* * *

Belle sat on her bed again, looking hard at her shoes. Chip had made her realise that a lifetime spent trapped in the castle of someone against whom she was constantly waging a mental war would be needlessly unpleasant. Yet, even so, she wasn't sure if she was ready to forgive him so fast. After all, curse or no curse, he was holding her here for his own benefit. He was rude, selfish and self-centred – everything she hated, just like Gaston. Dealing with _him_ had become part of the routine at home and she had derived probably too much satisfaction from sending him out into the mud with the pigs. It had been wrong of her, she knew that. A heroine in a book would have been courteous and polite, declining his proposal elegantly with no mud involved. 

She sighed. It was as though life were the same everywhere. She had been stuck in a provincial town with an arrogant hero, now it was a castle with a selfish Beast. An even trade, she thought – or it would have been if she hadn't lost her father.

Her thoughts were interrupted by her wardrobe. Belle had decided simply to call her Madame, unless she objected strongly. "Well, my dear, what shall we dress you in?" She narrowed her eyes. "You _are_ going to change to dine with the Master, aren't you, dear?"

Belle decided simply to give the right answer. "Yes." She added in her mind "_Will he?_"

As Madame produced a selection of three different gowns, Belle thought about what she had said earlier. "_The Master's not so bad once you get to know him. Why don't you give him a chance?_" Of course, now she knew why Madame had wanted a chance for her Master. They wanted to be free, all of them – but what could she do, now?

"_All right, 'Master',_" she thought. "_This is your chance_."

* * *

Back in the West Wing, it was as though the Beast had heard that very thought. 

"I'm not sure this is worth it, he said, struggling with the shirt Mrs Potts had instructed him to put on. "There's no point. She knows."

"Listen," said Mrs Potts, surprisingly firm for such a gentle person. "The young lady is giving you a second chance. The least you can do is use it."

"Mrrrgrrrmplth," said the Beast, then, as his head reappeared, "It doesn't matter. She won't love me now that she knows she's supposed to."

"I think," said Mrs Potts. "That that rather depends on you."

* * *

"I won't do it," Belle said, writhing around in a green skirt that had too many layers but otherwise looked, she had to admit, quite... _nice_. "You do know that, all of you, don't you? I'll eat with him, I'll try my best to see whatever good it is you all seem to see in him, but I can't love him. That won't change, I'm sorry." 

Madame rummaged for a necklace as Belle adjusted her bodice. "Yes, dear. It isn't fair to expect more than that from you."

Belle had her doubts about that answer, but let them slide. She had said what she needed to. No matter what he did, he would not be able to make her love him. With a complete change of attitude – particularly to his servants – he might earn her respect. If he could put aside his selfish nature and take interest in her as a person, perhaps even her friendship. But her love?

Belle shook her head. Never, not even if they both lived for a hundred years, would she love the Beast.


	7. Not a Great Reader

Luncheon turned out to be delicate sandwiches with fruit to follow. Belle, realising she hadn't eaten properly in a while, helped herself eagerly and for a while there was silence between the two figures at the table. On Belle's part, this was because of a need to chew and swallow as fast as possible without actually making a spectacle of herself. However, glancing now and then across the table, she formed the idea that perhaps this wasn't the usual fare here. The Beast, seeming awkward enough in a shirt, was looking at his sandwiches in apparent bewilderment. She felt a brief flash of sympathy for him. Handling things couldn't be easy with paws.

In actual fact, the Beast was vaguely wandering if his servants were playing some kind of trick on him. This wasn't real food, was it? Belle seemed to be enjoying it. He realised, slightly crestfallen, that this must be another Beast thing. It seemed he had no choice but to eat the things. He didn't bite them, though. Not with fangs. They weren't big enough to bother with.

What with one thing and another, the meal hadn't really turned out to be the icebreaker those concerned had hoped for. In fact, apart from Belle's thanks to the servants, no one spoke until the dishes had been cleared away.

Belle looked across at the Beast. The table suddenly seemed very long. Belle blushed, realising that her attempt at friendship had so far led her only as far as allowing the Beast to watch her eat. She searched for inspiration. "Lumière mentioned that you have a library."

It took the Beast a moment or two to recognise this as a conversation opening rather than a statement of fact. "Oh. Yes, there's a library."

There was a pause. Lumière mimed thumping himself on the forehead and earned a sharp look from Cogsworth.

Mrs Potts shook her head – or would have done. "Perhaps Belle would like to _see_ the library, sir."

The Beast frowned for a moment, then the message got through. He looked back at Belle. "Would you?"

Belle gave a smile of genuine amusement. "I'd _love_ to see the library."

"Right," said the Beast. He stood up, glad to get away from the table, and seized Belle's arm. "This way."

Belle winced but said nothing. He had a firm grip. Physical contact can be a positive step in a relationship, but she felt that this had more to do with the Beast's failure to grasp basic principles of etiquette than his wanting to make a friendly gesture.

It seemed to take a long time to reach the library. When they did, it turned out to be very dark.

"Here you are," said the Beast, releasing her.

Belle massaged her arm, squinting. "Can we open the curtains?"

"All right." He crossed the room and pulled them open. Light streamed into the room, illuminating clouds of dust.

Belle coughed. "You're not a great reader, are you?"

The Beast whirled around, making a noise that sounded a lot like a snarl.

Belle recoiled, surprised at the reaction. "I-I'm sorry!" She looked around for one of the servants to help, but they seemed to have disappeared. She looked back at the Beast, desperately hoping she hadn't sparked a repetition of the rose disaster. "I didn't mean to – please don't..."

Her expression brought the Beast to his senses. What was he doing?! "Sorry," he said. "It's... it's nothing, I – what do you think of it?" He gestured around the room.

For the first time, with the disturbed dust now settled again, Belle looked around the room. A gasp escaped her without authorisation from her brain. "I've never seen so many books in all my life!"

The Beast watched her carefully, interpreting that as a good thing. "'Syours," he muttered, on a whim.

She thought about this carefully for a moment, then had to ask. "I... beg your pardon?"

"Er, you can have it. The books and everything."

"Thank you." Belle responded with a smile, but her heart sank. The library, then, was a ploy. Certainly it was good to know that she would be able to find something here to read, but – a _gift_ of a library? If she were honest with herself, perhaps it might have worked on her had she been oblivious to the spell. Perhaps then it might have been endearing rather than obvious. But she could see through this as clear as anything and she was disappointed. It seemed she had not made her position clear enough.

* * *

From the doorway, Lumière scrutinised the scene unfolding. "I think," he said, with just a hint of self-congratulation. "That there may be something..." 

"Don't say it," snapped Cogsworth. "This hardly constitutes sufficient evidence."

Mrs Potts sighed. "I'm afraid he's right," she told Lumière. "This is going to take more than a gift, however generous."

"And 'generous'," said Cogsworth. "Is not exactly the Master's middle name."

"True," Lumière conceded. "Though I am not certain the Master _has_ a middle name."

* * *

"So," said Belle, facing a bookshelf but looking at the Beast out of the corner of her eye. "Which is your favourite?" 

He knew when he was cornered, but he really didn't want to admit it. "That one," he said, with a dismissive gesture towards the lower shelf.

A smile flickered across Belle's face. "A Master's Guide to Imprisoning Maidens," she read. "Interesting choice."

His look of absolute horror would become one of her favourite memories. "I... what?"

She dissolved into laughter; great, heaving peals that sounded almost as though she were having trouble breathing. The Beast looked on, bewildered and increasingly irritated.

"I'm... sorry," she gasped, eventually. "I couldn't help myself."

The Beast was torn between bemusement and fury. "What?"

She took several deep breaths to calm herself. "You can't read, can you?"

"I can!" he said, defensively. "I just... couldn't make out that title. I thought it was a different book."

Belle gave him a look that plainly said she didn't believe him. "Really?"

He shuffled his feet, nervously. "No." He sighed, adding an unintentionally whiny "I can read a little!"

Belle gave him a brief sympathetic smile and turned away, distracted by the books.

The Beast made violent gestures of irritation to the bottom-shelf book Belle had been looking at.

* * *

Across the room, the servants gave a collective sigh. This was getting harder all the time. 

"We need a plan," said Cogsworth, a determined expression on his face.

"What do you suggest, dear?" Mrs Potts asked, wearily.

Cogsworth frowned. He fidgeted. He changed his position a few times. He tried to look like someone on the verge of a breakthrough. Eventually, though, he had to admit defeat. "Lumière?"

"_Oui?_"

"What would you do if you were wooing a woman like Belle?"

Lumière's 'on the verge of a breakthrough' expression was all the more convincing for its actually being genuine. "_Mes amis,_" he said, a grin threatening to separate his waxen head from his shoulders. "I think you may confidently leave this in my capable hands."

And with that, he hurried down the corridor. Cogsworth hopped up and down, looking agitated and wishing he'd thought of whatever Lumière had. Mrs Potts looked sadly back at the two figures in the library. She had a bad feeling about this.


	8. A Work of Genius

Lumière had called a meeting of his own. Being unquestionably more charismatic than Cogsworth, he held – though Cogsworth would never admit it – a greater influence over most of his colleagues, despite his lower rank. Unlike Cogsworth, he had opted for a more select gathering. In fact, those present represented no more than a quarter of the household staff, and they had been chosen with thought.

To his left, a group of his 'fellow candlesticks' from around the castle had assembled. The majority of them had been rather less fortunate than him when it came to apportioning limbs, since they mostly held only one or two candles. A rather pompous butler he had never really warmed to had, in fact, five candle-holding arms, but he was also five feet tall and therefore found himself left out of almost all conversations. This had given him time for reflection and he now seemed to Lumière to be a perfectly decent, if slightly stooping, individual.

Babette had managed to round up six of her friends; former maids who were now feather dusters like herself, also a dustpan and brush – and, perhaps most importantly, a couple of spades to do the heavy lifting and four sturdy buckets who had already filled themselves with water.

As they waited for everyone to settle down, Babette turned to Lumière. "Are you absolutely sure this is a good idea, _mon cher_? It is not perhaps a little dangerous?"

Lumière flashed her his most dazzling smile. "I am absolutely sure, _mon amour_. This will work like magic."

Babette shivered. "That is what I was afraid of," she muttered, but she didn't press the point.

Lumière kissed her cheek, then turned to reveal his plan to the others.

* * *

About an hour later, Lumière was standing on the table beside the rose, looking at the Master's cloak, which was in his eye line.

"You're sure this will help?" The Beast looked dubiously at the slightly droopy flowers Lumière had brought up to him. "I can't keep giving her things, can I?"

Lumière rolled his eyes. "Master, she is a _woman_. How much do you have to give?"

The Beast shrugged. There was no denying that Lumière knew more about this than he did – and it wasn't as though he had much to lose. "All right, I'll try it."

* * *

Belle looked down at the feather duster in confusion. "I don't understand, Babette. Why do you want me to go to the ballroom? I don't even know where it is!"

Babette hesitated. She was still uneasy about this, but she had promised Lumière. Still, she didn't need to actually _lie_. "Lumière asked me to tell you to go to the ballroom, _mademoiselle_," she repeated. "Would you like me to show you the way?"

* * *

"_Why_ is she in the ballroom?" the Beast asked, suddenly, halfway along a corridor.

Lumière thought quickly. "Babette is giving her a tour, and she told me they would be in the ballroom right about now. We should hurry, though," he added.

Seeing no reason not to, the Beast quickened his step, leaving Lumière behind in his haste. This was all part of the plan. Once he had turned a corner, Lumière flared the flame on his right hand so that for a moment it almost shone white. It was the signal. Two shovels pushing piles of dry wood emerged from the shadows and, at a discreet distance, followed the Beast down the corridor.

* * *

"Here we are, _mademoiselle_. The ballroom."

It was breathtaking. Belle stepped onto the gorgeous marble floor with a reverent expression on her face, listening to the sound her footsteps made on it. She walked slowly to the middle of the room, imagining the sound of musicians playing a waltz. She didn't know any ballroom dances, but even so she couldn't resist twirling a few times, enjoying the way the skirt of Madame's dress flared out as she moved.

It was as she stopped that she noticed the Beast standing at the edge of the room. She wavered, caught off-guard. Babette seemed to have disappeared.

"Oh," she said. "Hello."

* * *

Cogsworth arrived just as Lumière's volunteers put the finishing touches on the plan's climax. His eyes widened as her surveyed the corridor outside the ballroom – and, specifically, the doorway. "What... the devil... are you _doing_?" he spluttered.

"Ah, Cogsworth," Lumière beamed. "A pleasure as always."

Cogsworth gaped. "What is going on here?!"

"This," said Lumière. "Is a work of genius."

"Please tell me it's not what I think it is."

His consternation was understandable, really. It looked for all the world as though Lumière were planning to start a fairly substantial fire.

"Well, do you think it is a brilliant plan to bring the girl and the Master together with a seemingly dangerous escapade?"

"Absolutely not."

"Nevertheless," said Lumière, leaning close to the wood and gesturing for everyone to stand back. "It is likely that this is also what you think it is."

And with that, he held out a hand, allowing a single spark to jump from the flame.


	9. Painted Cherubs

Cogsworth was almost levitating with sheer tension. "Lumière," he squeaked. "You can't _do _this! Do you have any idea what could happen?"

Lumière rolled his eyes theatrically, gesturing to the other candlesticks to ignite their appointed logs. "Cogsworth, you asked me what I would do to woo Belle, did you not?"

"Yes, but arson was not exactly what I had in mind!"

"_Mon ami_," Lumière sighed, placing a still-flaming hand on Cogsworth's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. "You have so much to learn." He turned to his associates. "All those who are flammable step away, _si vous plait_."

Any words that might have been about to come out of Cogsworth's mouth found themselves unceremonially bundled out together as a high-pitched squawk as a wall of flame leapt up in front of him.

"Lumière," he said, as soon as he recovered the power of speech. "What are you going to do if the fire spreads?"

"Well, obviously I planned for..." Lumière froze. If his face had had any colour, it would have drained out.

Cogsworth stared at him open-mouthed for a moment, then fainted.

* * *

Belle and the Beast faced each other awkwardly across the ballroom.

"So," he tried. "You, uh, like to dance?"

Belle felt her face getting hot. How had she let herself get caught doing something so foolish? The next thing she knew the servants would have her attempting to dance _with him_, and if conversation was awkward at a meal, what would they have to say while _dancing_? "Well, not really."

"Oh."

There was a pause as they both searched for something to say. Belle was the first to be successful. "Do you smell smoke?" she asked.

The Beast was about to respond when a loud cracking noise behind him proved something of a distraction. He whirled around. One of the doors, charred and blackened, was hanging awkwardly from only one hinge. Beyond it, a tower of flame had appeared in the corridor.

The most obvious question to a safe, comfortable onlooker would probably have been "Where on Earth did that come from?" However, in the heat of the moment, so to speak, priorities are a little different.

Belle didn't scream as such, but a little shriek escaped her lips. The Beast, unfortunately more because he was close to a growing fire than because he wanted to comfort her, ran towards her. Belle shrieked again, louder this time, pointing at the hem of his cloak. Flames were licking their way up it. The Beast gave a roar of panic and started struggling wildly to free himself of the burning garment. This was largely unsuccessful and the flames were moving ever further up.

"Hold still!" Belle shouted.

"I'm on _fire_!" he yelled back, twisting and turning and tearing to no avail.

"I know! _Hold still_!" She could see her words were having no effect. In the end, she took a deep breath, stepped forward and seized the cloak by its fastening, quickly working it undone. The cloak fell to the floor just as the fur on the Beast's tail caught alight.

He gave a yelp and leapt forwards, extinguishing it with spit. Not, perhaps, one of Lumière's approved methods of impressing young ladies, but an effective enough way of avoiding burning to death.

Belle was stamping on the cloak to try and put out the fire. He went to help her and after a few seconds of energetic jumping, the remains of the cloak lay, smoking but harmless, on the ballroom floor.

Belle seemed off-balance and staggered into the Beast, who caught her without thinking.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She straightened up hastily. "Yes, I'm fine. Are you?"

"Well, I think I singed my..." He looked down, hesitating. "Never mind."

Belle gave him a weak smile, but before she could speak, another cracking noise heralded the door's reluctance to work under these conditions. The door frame collapsed spectacularly, leaving an irregularly-shaped hole in the wall. They could now see the corridor beyond and the full extent of the fire.

Lumière's choice of location had been a good one. The principle entrance to the ballroom was via the entrance hall, up a short flight of stairs. To turn left would lead one to the East Wing, with the West Wing to the right. The staircase, like the walls, was fashioned from stone, meaning that as far as structure went, a fire ought only to affect the wooden doors, assuming it didn't reach as far as any paintings or tapestries. This was, however, assuming it didn't actually spread within the ballroom, filled, as it was, with dusty lengths of velvet draped for decoration.

As Belle and the Beast watched, the flames lunged at these decorations, devouring them faster than Belle would have thought possible. The door was impassable and now there was a ring of fire above their heads.

"It's all right," said the Beast, trying to disguise the fear in his voice. "There's another door that leads out onto the balcony."

There was a moment of frozen panic, and then the two of them turned together and ran for the far end of the room. The door was locked but put up little resistance to the Beast's fists. The two of them burst out onto the balcony – and found themselves staring at a thirty-foot drop. They were trapped.

* * *

Babette stared her beloved full in the face. "Tell me, Lumière. Tell me this is part of the plan."

Lumière looked above and behind her. The flames were reaching higher and higher now, threatening to reach the wooden frames of the windows that had formerly resided over the ballroom door. They couldn't even see through the doorway to the ballroom. "All right. I admit that things may be getting a little out of hand..."

"_A little out of hand?!_" Babette repeated. "Lumière, the castle is burning around us and there's nothing you can do about it!"

"There are four buckets of water!" Lumière replied, defensively.

"No, Lumière. There _were_ four buckets of water. They all ran away when the door collapsed. In fact, Lumière, there are only the three of us still here, and he's unconscious." She gestured at Cogsworth's fallen figure.

"This is what I love about you, _cherie,_" said Lumière, weakly. "You know what's important in a crisis!"

Babette looked away, exasperated, in time to see a block of masonry crash down barely three feet from them. "Well, Lumière, this is certainly a crisis."

* * *

Belle and the Beast walked back into the room with a kind of grim horror, drawn like moths to witness the destruction. They would probably have been safer on the balcony, but it was hardly an escape route.

For his part, the Beast could barely believe it. What had happened? How had it happened? He was watching the castle that had been home for twenty years – if a prison for ten – burn around him.

"What about the others?" Belle was saying. "Where are they?"

"They're probably safe," he said. His own voice sounded distant.

"How can you be sure?" Belle's own tone was urgent, but he couldn't engage with what she was saying.

_Burning, all of it – his home, his inheritance, all he had ever known..._

He would never be quite sure what happened next. One minute, he was staring at the fire. The next, he was on his back with a scream ringing in his ears and a crushing pain in his right shoulder that spread to his chest. Darkness spread from the edges of his vision. The last thing he would remember was the image of the painted cherubs on the ceiling.


	10. Useful

The first sensation the Beast felt on awakening was of cold. The right side of his torso felt cold. He was lying on his back, too. He didn't normally sleep on his back.

Realising that something had to be wrong, he cracked open an eyelid – just in time to see a cascade of water on its way to his face. He growled in surprise. The water was cold.

Belle turned at the sound. "Oh, no – I said to wake him _gently_!"

A bucket scurried past the Beast's left elbow looking suitably ashamed of itself. "Sorry, Belle," it said, adding once it was a little closer to her: "I couldn't resist."

Belle briefly raised her eyebrows but didn't look away from the length of fabric she was holding. "I understand, François, but perhaps you'd better make yourself scarce now."

The bucket gave the Master a wary glance, then, reaching Belle's conclusion, hurried away.

The Beast tried to work out what was going on. They had been in the ballroom. Belle had been dancing. The had been a fire – the fire! He bolted upright, meaning to spring into action. A bolt of pain ran from his shoulder to his wrist and his chest felt like it was on fire. "Argh!" he cried, without meaning to make a noise.

Belle glanced at him. "Don't move," she said, redundantly. "I haven't finished yet."

Speechless with the searing agony in his arm, the Beast looked down to see what the matter was. His arm had been tightly bandaged in strips of white fabric, but that wasn't what caught his attention. His shirt hung in ruins from his body and it was clear it had been burnt. This accounted for the loss of fur on the right side of his chest and also for the raw, red skin. No wonder it hurt. The Beast let out a snarl of horror.

Belle, having folded the material in her hands, walked towards him and knelt down at his side. "Hold still. I'm going to make a sling for your arm." She spoke with the tone used to calm anxious horses. The Beast might have found this offensive if he were in any condition to notice.

Without heeding her, he began to thrash around, looking for the fire, the damage – some explanation of what had happened. "What... but... how...?" he asked, incoherently.

Belle sighed. "This is why I bandaged you when you were unconscious," she said, seizing his arm and holding it still.

The Beast gave a roar that made her ears ache. "_That hurts!_"

She didn't bother to reply. In a moment, she had slipped the sling around his neck and arm and fastened it in place with a couple of knots. "Try not to move it," she said, standing up. In another moment she had crossed the room to what had formerly been the doorway and immersed herself in a conversation with a bucket and a broom.

Mrs Potts approached, clucking sympathetically. "Oh, my, you have been in the wars, haven't you sir? I could hardly believe it when Belle told me what had happened! Thank heaven you're safe – think how awful it could have been!"

The Beast rubbed his eyes with his good hand. "What _did_ happen?" he asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know but feeling very left out.

"Well, it was the chandelier, sir! Lit by magic, I shouldn't wonder, since none of us could shift that chain to get it down even in the old days. Well, I don't know for sure what happened, sir, but when the fire reached the chain it let the chandelier go and down it came." She nodded at his shoulder. "Just caught you, sir, but think! One step to the right and there'd have been nothing Belle could do."

The Beast turned slowly to look at the twisted remains of the chandelier. Shards of crystal had spread out like spilt water across the ballroom. It was a lot to take in, but something Mrs Potts had said stood out to him. "Belle?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. She's saved the day, sir, and no mistake about that!"

* * *

As Belle watched a diligent team of spades, buckets, brooms and brushes clear away the ashes and debris at the doorway, the reality of what she had achieved today had begun to sink in. It had been – well, the stuff of adventures.

For the first time, she replayed the afternoon's events in her mind. The moment the chandelier had crashed to the ground was probably the most horrifying thing she had ever witnessed and she had let out a scream so loud that her throat still ached in protest.

The Beast had fallen to the floor. Not knowing what condition he was in, she had looked around desperately for something to use to extinguish the flames that had begun to creep across his chest from the lighted candles. This being a ballroom, nothing immediately came to hand.

So she ran. Across broken glass, though she hadn't realised that at the time. Though the fire was still burning strong around her, there was a patch on the floor in front of her where it had run out of fuel. This was part of Lumière's plan. He had, after all, _wanted_ the two of them to escape. It was supposed to merely _look_ dangerous. She barely slowed down, running straight across burning embers in the thin-soled slippers Madame had given her to go with the dress.

As she ran from the room out into the corridor, a bucket of water hurried past her legs in a panicked frenzy. She seized it by the handle and ran with it straight back into the ballroom and hurled its contents over the Beast. The flames disappeared.

The fire was all but extinguished in the doorway but had begun to spread above them. She looked at the bucket in her hands. "Go," she had said. "Fetch more water, as much as you can! Go!"

The bucket had hit the ground running.

The next minutes had been a constant barrage of activity. One by one, buckets, glasses, cups and even Mrs Potts all arrived, filled to the brim with water. She hurled the water as far as she could, soaking everything within range. Finally, the room filled with steam and everyone could breathe again. That was when she had asked for a sheet to be brought for use as bandages. Miraculously, the Beast seemed to be the only one injured, although Cogsworth was known to have passed out three times in quick succession.

And now, as the damage was cleared away, Belle was finally coming to realise how much her feet hurt. Her shoes were wrecked and her bare soles had endured heat and broken glass. The pain brought sudden tears to her eyes. She leaned against the wall, suddenly exhausted.

"Ow," she whispered.

* * *

Burying your face in your hands is not really recommended when those hands are lighted candles, and Lumière got a nasty shock when he did it. He couldn't believe what he'd done. This had been to save the Master, and instead he had almost been killed. Lumière had nearly been responsible for the destruction of the castle. He'd never have forgiven himself – and probably no one else would have, either.

The presence of Babette and Cogsworth didn't help matters. They stood with him beside the damp, smoking wreckage of the double doors and looked at him accusingly, though neither of them had yet managed to phrase their thoughts. In actual fact, Babette could tell that there was little she could do to make him feel worse. Cogsworth, though, was just lost for words, and eventually he found some.

"Well, Lumière. I think we've now gained a fairly clear picture of what happens when matters are left in your '_capable_' hands. I'm all for speeding things along between the girl and the Master, but perhaps not increasing the pace so as to bring them quite this close to their graves."

Lumière shook his head. "There is nothing I can say, Cogsworth."

"Well, that's certain. You really did it this time, Lumière."

Lumière had drooped worse than the rose upstairs. "I know, Cogsworth. I know, and I am sorry."

Babette moved towards him. "Lumière?"

He didn't reply. Instead he moved away, quickly disappearing through the door that led to the servants' wing. Babette looked after him sadly, but knew there was no point in following him.

Cogsworth muttered something under his breath and walked into the ballroom. It had needed saying.

* * *

The Beast had stared open-mouthed at Mrs Potts as she related the story of Belle's general heroism. He owed a lot to her – more than he would be able to pay back. "She... saved my life?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, dear." Mrs Potts turned to look over at Belle. "She's certainly useful to have around, isn't she?"

"Y-yes," he spluttered. "Useful." He noted her position with concern. "Is she all right?"

Mrs Potts looked at him curiously. "I don't know, sir. Shall I go and see to her?"

He thought about it. "No, no," he said. "I'll go."


	11. Promise Or No Promise

"Don't move that arm," Belle said, automatically, as the Beast approached her.

"Right," he said, though he hadn't been planning to do any such thing. It hurt like hell even when held still. He looked at her. "Are you, uh, all right?"

"Yes," said Belle, before making the mistake of taking a step towards him. She grimaced.

"What's wrong?"

"It's my feet." She lifted a leg, gingerly, bending it back to survey the damage. It wasn't pretty. The sole was a patchwork of blisters that had risen only to be slashed with a criss-cross pattern of cuts left by the shards of glass. Blood mixed with ash and dust. "Eurgh," she said, feelingly.

"Could be worse," he said, absently. "Could be claws."

Belle gave him a genuine smile. It wasn't that she found him charming – for which she was thankful, since any charm would be completely untrustworthy – but it was the first time that the curse had been alluded to with anything resembling humour. It was refreshing after so much melancholy. "If you say so."

He was just thinking of something else to say when Lumière appeared – much to the surprise of Babette and Cogsworth, who had entered the ballroom after watching him leave.

"Master, I need to speak to you. And you, too, _mademoiselle_," he added.

The Beast gave him an irritable look, frustrated at the interruption of the first decent conversation he had ever had with Belle. Belle, however, caught the urgency in his expression and dropped to her knees in front of him – a welcome relief for her feet, as it happened.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I... have a confession to make," he sighed. "I hope you will accept my sincerest apologies, I – I did not mean for things to go as they did. It was a foolish venture with but a dim hope of success – yet a hope I felt I had to grasp, and with a prize that desperation drove me to strive for..."

"Lumière," said Belle, gently but firmly. "_What did you do_?"

Lumière took a deep breath, turning to the Beast. "Master... ishtartedzfire."

Belle and the Beast looked at each other for a moment, confused.

"What?" asked the Beast, eventually.

"I... started the fire."

In a calmer situation, Belle might have been impressed with the Beast's reaction timing. He had roared his ear-splitting response before she had even processed the information.

"_WHAT_?!"

"Allow me to explain. Relations between you and the _mademoiselle_ were not proceeding at an appropriate rate and it seemed that things would not be changing any time soon, so I thought that perhaps a little drama, a chance to show one another your true characters – I thought it might perhaps open the doors of communication a little wider, help you to get to know one another..."

Most – if not all – of this went completely over the Beast's head.

"You did this? We could have been killed!" The exclamation was calmer than he felt, but spoken through gritted teeth and heavily laced with a growl even so.

"I wanted to help, Master!"

"_Help_? You've destroyed the ballroom and -" He turned to Belle. "Show him your feet."

Belle twisted, uncomfortably. "It's nothing, really. They'll heal in no time."

The Beast bared his teeth. "_Show him_!"

Reluctantly, Belle let herself fall backwards so that she was sitting on the floor with her legs free. She gave Lumière a brief glimpse of her feet.

He winced. "_Cherie_, I..."

"It's nothing," Belle repeated. "Really."

"Do you see what you've _done_?" the Beast snarled.

"Master..."

"Go away, Lumière," he snapped. "I never want to see you again, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Lumière replied, miserably. He turned and hopped for the door. Perhaps he would find somewhere to hide. If some miraculous stroke of luck fell his way, perhaps the Master would break the curse in time and he would be free to find work. Perhaps not. Where would a talking candlestick find employment? A thorny problem. He certainly couldn't take Babette with him – she shouldn't suffer for his foolishness. He would miss her, though.

"Wait, Lumière," said Belle.

He turned around, slowly. He said nothing.

"You don't have to go anywhere," she said. "Stay right where you are."

The Beast fixed her with a look that would have sent Cogsworth running for cover – and did. For a moment, the only sound that could be heard was that of a clock beating a hasty retreat across the entrance hall to the parlour.

"I am Master here," the Beast said. His tone was calm – it was Belle, after all – but Lumière could see his clenched fists shaking with rage. The young woman had to be fighting a losing battle. No one won when the Master was like this. Still, she had spirit Lumière hadn't seen since he had first been introduced to a young maid called Babette. He might almost have been tempted himself...

"Yes," said Belle, getting slowly to her feet. "You've mentioned that once or twice."

"Belle," he said. A warning.

"You have no right to do this," she said. "I made a bargain with you – I'm your prisoner but treated as a guest. What about your servants? What about all they've suffered because of you? What gives you the right to treat them as prisoners? They're all good to you, though you don't deserve anything from them, and what do they get as a reward?" She paused for breath. All work had ceased around her. The servants were staring, open-mouthed. She decided to take the final step. "In fact, unless you apologise to him this instant, I'm leaving with him. Promise or no promise."

A collective gasp went round the room.

The Beast gaped at her. If he had been furious before, by now he ought to be incandescent with rage. Yet instead he felt... different. This was a sensation he had never felt before. Belle was standing before him... _defying_ him. Telling him how wrong she thought he was. An idea he would have dismissed as stupidity or attempted suicide, whether as a young prince who held power like ordinary children held toys or a Beast who could destroy furniture as soon as look at it. He should have been breaking things. But instead, he just stood and stared at her. There was fire in her expression and somehow it made her even more beautiful.

Not that 'beautiful' was a word he should be using to describe something like this. Or anything, really. 'Beautiful' wasn't a good concept for him. But still...

He looked down at Lumière. Like it or not, the manservant had Belle on his side. And if this was what he thought it was, the candlestick was going to be worth significantly more than his weight in gold very shortly.

"All right," he said. "Lumière, I'm sorry."

You could have cut the shock in the room with a knife. Fortunately, the cutlery was still in the kitchen, dealing themselves into another game of cards. The fire had passed them by completely.


	12. Beauteous Evil

Gaston was drunk. This was not precisely certifiable, but had someone chosen to take an opinion poll on his present condition, it would probably have come out universally in favour of "cannot walk in a straight circle". Or would have done if anyone had been brave enough to ask or answer any questions about the village hero other than the obvious "_how_ many deer did he kill?"

So, he was drunk. There was a reason for this, although the man himself would have been hard-pressed to remember what it was. Something to do with Belle. And possibly a pig and a cake, although that was a bit fuzzy at the moment. That was the last time he'd seen her – almost a month ago, now. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a tiny little voice had begun to vaguely hint at a slight mention of the slim possibility that there was a chance that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't simply playing hard to get. The tankards of ale were so far doing a great job of shutting the little voice up, and he was willing to drink to that.

"Lefou," he said, regardless of the fact that his favourite – i.e. most attentively adoring – drinking buddy had collapsed on the floor some moments previously. "I will marry Belle. She loves me really. A lot. She really, really loves me... a lot. Really."

"Mrrrrrnnngrlpth," Lefou replied, as supportively as he could.

* * *

It was the day after the fire and the Beast was in something of a quandary. The problem was this: he knew _something_needed to be done, and fast. He just wasn't sure what. To put it another way, he knew his relationship with Belle needed attention. But how to give it?

Ordinarily, he would have asked one of his servants. Lumière, for example – the recent episode now forgiven if not forgotten – would know where to take a romantic conquest from here. On the other... _hand_, it was better not to raise expectations there. Belle had a way of expressing herself that meant selective deafness was not really a viable option. Mrs Potts, then, would surely be able to offer an insight into what she was thinking and a suggestion of something she might appreciate. In a pinch, even Cogsworth would have done. He could at least reliably inform him – to the second, if necessary – of the last time Belle had been seen in a given location.

Unfortunately, none of these was an option. Cogsworth had called another of his meetings, and it had been agreed – or possibly proclaimed – that he, the Master, was to be left to his own devices. In theory, it was a good idea. Belle would see their intervention a mile off. In practice, however, he was forced to admit that he was lost without their guidance.

He cleared his throat, once again using the rose as a stand-in for Belle. His shirt rubbed painfully on his burnt chest as he moved.

"Uh, Belle, I just wanted to say... I apologise for yesterday – no, for my behaviour yesterday. For what I said yesterday?" He sighed. "Belle, I'm sorry. You were right that – when you said... I realised that..."

He slammed his left fist into the wall in frustration. This was hopeless. There was nothing for it – he would have to find her and hope that the words would come.

* * *

Though she would have been reluctant to admit it, Belle was having a good morning. She had noted a curious lack of servants so far – though Madame had made up for it to some extent by spending a good half hour trying to persuade her to try on some ballgown or other – and although she missed the conversation, she had taken the opportunity to return to the library and see what it had to offer.

On entering, she had been struck once again by its size. Simply to read the title of every book would have been a full day's work. Once, perhaps, she had thought her desire for new reading material insatiable. This might be the thing to stop the longing. She couldn't, however, view it as her own. Everything here belonged to _him_ – including, she thought, grimly, herself. She had made a bargain – bought her father's freedom with her own.

It could have been worse, she reasoned. She would have to own that. His interest in her might have been more material. He might have wanted to eat her – or worse. She shuddered at the thought. Even assuming he were not – in the true sense of the word – a monster, he could have been a harsh captor. He might have starved her, hurt her, taunted her. The possibilities were endless and horrible. She shook her head to clear it, busying herself with the closest shelf. From that perspective, she had been lucky. Indeed, if not for how keenly she missed her father, she might have been completely at ease here. Especially since – she gasped. _The Legend of King Arthur_! And over there, the complete works of Shakespeare!

She piled the books on the floor and, selecting 'Twelfth Night', settled down in a chair. She would be comfortable here for some time.

She allowed the book to fall open in her lap. She had not the concentration to read it in full just now. Instead, she decided to look for passages of wisdom within the comedy, since she knew Shakespeare to be relevant at the strangest moments. And what moment could be stranger than this?

In the doorway, someone coughed. She looked up. It was _him_ – of course it was. She looked at him for a moment. They had parted on good terms the previous day; that is, they had wished each other a good evening and their tempers had not betrayed him. The stubbornness she had yesterday found within herself was all but new to her, yet she was glad of it. It would not do to be weak-willed here.

She decided on a cordial greeting. "Good morning!"

"Good morning," he replied. His voice sounded quiet, but then it was a big room. "Belle, may I talk to you for a moment?"

"All right," she said, cautiously. "Come over here."

He complied, nervousness radiating from every pore. "Belle," he burst out, taking himself by surprise. "I'm sorry."

Belle raised her eyebrows. "What for?" It wasn't that she couldn't think of anything. Rather, she needed him to narrow it down.

"For yesterday. I shouldn't... I shouldn't have said what I did. Can you forgive me?"

She shrugged. "You haven't hurt me. It's Lumière's forgiveness you need, and if anyone would forgive you something it's Lumière." She paused. "Or Mrs Potts. Or Cogsworth."

He knew this was deserved, so he tried not to let her see that it hurt. He felt guilty. For the first time in his life, he felt guilty for the way he had treated those around him. Whether she knew it or not, Belle had an influence here. "I know." He swallowed. "But what I said to you – I'm not Master, Belle. Especially of you. I'm sorry."

Belle looked away for a moment, biting a knuckle. Here was a strange thing. Had she read those words in a book, she might have cried. Certainly she would have given the heroine her full support to tell this figure, whoever he might be, that she most certainly forgave him, though perhaps with a hint of wit to prove that he did not wholly have the upper hand. But here? Well, this was certainly no romance, but – might she be willing to accept him at least as a friend? It was something to consider. She gave him a smile. "I forgive you," she said.

It was his turn to look away now. He couldn't understand this feeling. It was as though some great burden had been taken away – as though she had given him a gift. "Th-thank you," he stammered.

To escape the subsequent pause, Belle glanced down at the book. As always, Shakespeare had something to offer.

_In nature there's no blemish but the mind;  
None can be call'd deform'd but the unkind:  
Virtue is beauty, but the beauteous evil  
Are empty trunks, o'erflourish'd by the devil. _

She closed the book, hiding a little smile behind her hand. She looked up to find the Beast gazing intently at the ceiling. "It's a lovely day," she said. "Would you like to show me around the grounds?"


	13. Stories

The morning seemed to pass like a dream, with one thing fading into another so seamlessly that Belle was surprised when lunchtime crept up on them. By the time they sat down at the table, they had been walking in the garden for some hours, talking about nothing in particular. Once you got past the hostility, explained that you weren't going to fall in love with him and overlooked the fur and horns, he wasn't an especially bad person. Selfish and a little arrogant with an appalling temper, but not _bad_. She would be lying to say that she had not enjoyed her morning. Her suspicion had worn itself out and she had allowed herself to simply take an interest in him. He was gentle. Not in a conventional sense, but – well, he could be a gentleman when it suited him.

It was this that gave her the courage to ask a burning question over lunch.

"So," she said, as though it were a casual, ordinary question. "How did you get cursed?"

The Beast almost choked. "It's a long story," he spluttered.

"I'm not going anywhere," Belle observed. Sensing his reluctance, she added, "We could swap stories, if you like. You tell me about the curse and I'll tell you my story."

In spite of himself, he was interested. "All right," he said, slowly.

Mrs Potts and her tea trolley appeared as if from nowhere. "Tea, dears?" she asked, brightly.

Belle looked at her enthusiastically. "Yes, please!"

Mrs Potts filled two of Chip's older sisters, taking the first to Belle. When she reached the Master, she muttered quietly, as though to herself. "The beginning's as good a start as any."

The Beast watched her leave before beginning, absently touching the bandage on his right arm. "It was years ago," he said. "I've lived here all my life. My parents went away when I was nine years old and didn't come back."

Belle swallowed. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not as though I knew them. They were a prince and princess – a good prince and princess, but with diplomatic relations to look after, their son wasn't a priority. They loved me enough to see that I had everything I wanted, including my own castle while my uncle lived and ruled from the one I was born in, but mostly Mrs Potts looked after me."

Belle nodded, encouragingly. It made sense, she supposed. It was clear that he was spoiled. He was like Gaston in that way, too; too used to having everything he wanted. "You're King Emeric's nephew?" she asked.

She had heard of the missing prince. It was one of those stories that passed through the kingdom now and then. They were interesting, certainly, but by the time they got as far as the provincial towns like Belle's, the details had become a little fuzzy. Most people hadn't been aware that Emeric _had _a nephew until he disappeared.

He nodded, absently. "Yes. How is Emeric, anyway?"

"Dead for five years," Belle replied, quietly. "Emile's on the throne now."

"Oh," he said, quietly. There was a pause while he collected his thoughts. He remembered his uncle. Dull and humourless, but essentially kind. "Anyway," he resumed, eventually. "There was an old woman at the door. She wanted to come in to shelter from a storm. It wasn't uncommon for beggars to come, but most had the sense to try the kitchen door and ask for scraps there. Polite ones got to sleep in the stable."

Belle thought about passing comment here but decided against it. "I see."

"She wasn't that ugly, really – but I had less to compare it to back then. I said no. She gave me a warning about appearances. I said no again. So it happened." He sighed. "She was a sorceress in disguise."

_Hubris_, thought Belle. It really was the stuff of fairytales – but perhaps he didn't know that, since he couldn't read. In any case, he was the victim of his own pride and prejudice. She reflected that perhaps, given his past, locking her father in the tower hadn't been a particularly intelligent move. He was as good a candidate for a sorcerer in disguise as anyone else. On the other hand, how much more cursed could he get?

Feeling awkward, the Beast swallowed some tea. "Anyway," he said. "What's your story?"

She smiled. "No sorceresses, I'm afraid."

"Sounds good already."

She laughed, took a sip of tea and began. She told him everything: how her mother had died when she was a baby, how her father had taken to moving from one town to another, never staying in one place more than a year or two. How they had been stuck in the village when money ran out and how everyone there thought she was odd. She even told him about Gaston – with a few sidelong glances to see whether he caught her unsubtle hints about vanity and arrogance. For the most part, he listened in silence, until she came to recount the events of the day she had come to the castle.

"He asked you to marry him?" the Beast exclaimed.

Belle laughed at his incredulity. "It happens now and then," she said. "Even among those who aren't cursed."

The Beast had to pause and think about this. Had he ever stood a chance? Would she have loved him even if she hadn't known about the curse? "What did you say?" he asked, cautiously.

"I told him I didn't deserve him."

He looked at her seriously. "Do you believe that?"

Belle hid a snort with a cough. "I... yes. I don't think I've ever done anything _that_ bad!"

For some reason, he was relieved. Even so, he wanted to change the subject. "Do you miss your home?" he asked. It sounded clumsy and awkward, but it was at least sincere.

She screwed up her face. "I miss my father," she answered, eventually, and the sadness in her tone was obvious. "It's not that I don't like it here. Your castle is beautiful, but..." She turned away and her voice cracked. "He's all I've got."

He stared at her for a moment, wondering how she felt. There was a heavy feeling in his chest and he knew something was wrong. He had been powerless for a long time and had yet to fully come to terms with the fact that he would almost certainly remain that way forever. There were things he couldn't change – but then there was this, which he could. He made up his mind.

"Belle?"

She swallowed, surreptitiously wiping her eyes before looking back at him. "Yes?"

"You can go home," he blurted out. "I release you."

She stared at him, completely shocked. "What?"

He spoke quickly as though forcing the words out. "You're free. Go home to your father."

Belle stared at him for what seemed like an age. "Really?"

"Yes."

Suddenly very emotional, she leapt from her chair and threw her arms around his neck. He froze for a moment, then laid a hand on her back, awkwardly. She drew back, smiling. "Thank you!" she said. "Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome," he murmured.


	14. A Little Persuasion

Belle didn't mean to simply leave forever. She had friends here – friends she would return to. Yet her excitement at the idea of seeing her father again would brook little delay, and within the hour she had changed into her own blue dress and saddled Philippe.

The servants came out to bid her _adieu_. She knelt down before them. "I'm sorry to leave you all," she said. "I promise I'll come back soon and visit – within a week, if you like. I wouldn't abandon friends like you."

Touched, they all tried to smile, but their hearts were heavy with the one part of the secret Belle had not overheard. Secretly, they had all clung to the hope that Belle would learn to love the Master in spite of herself. In a week's time, it would be too late. The Master's birthday was in three days. By the time Belle returned, the last petal would have fallen and they would be truly desolate.

Belle noted their expressions of sadness and felt it within herself. She gave them a weak smile and mounted Philippe. "Goodbye," she said. "You're good friends, I'll miss you." She dug in her heels. "Let's go, Philippe."

As the horse broke into a canter, she mouthed a silent wish. _Please... please let me find a way to help them. There must be another way. Let me find another way._

* * *

Perhaps an hour later, Cogsworth Lumière and Mrs Potts decided to pay a visit to the West Wing. It had seemed like a good idea from the entrance hall. Closer to the West Wing, they all began to lose their nerve.

"Master?" said Cogsworth, cautiously.

"Yes?" came the voice from within, much quieter than they were used to. Encouraged, they trooped into the room.

"Master," Cogsworth said again. "Stop me if I'm incorrect. You saw the girl was unhappy without her father. You could not bear to see her unhappy because you love and adore her with every fibre of your being, and so you released her in what is quite possibly the most selfless act you have ever performed."

Lumière and Mrs Potts exchanged glances. The Beast remained motionless.

Cogsworth was working himself into a delicious state of agitation. "_Why the devil didn't that work?_" he exclaimed.

"It's not enough," said Mrs Potts. "She has to love him in return."

Without warning, the Beast turned abruptly and left the room. The servants were left looking at the rose.

* * *

Never in her life had the first glimpse of the village made Belle so happy. She dismounted in the garden, tethering Philippe and giving him the most generous helping of oats he had ever seen. Then, disturbing chickens all over the place, she ran up the steps and burst through the door.

Her father was studying a map that was a good fifty years out of date. He looked up sharply as she entered. "Belle!"

"Papa!" She ran across the room, throwing her arms around him. "Oh, Papa, I missed you!"

He drew back to look at her face. "I... I thought I'd never see you again!" He gestured at the map. There was a large red cross in the middle of the forest "I worked out the castle's co-ordinates but without Philippe I'd have had a terrible time coming to fetch you! How did you escape?"

She kissed him on the cheek. "I didn't have to. He let me go. I'm free now."

"That horrible Beast?"

Belle smiled a little. "Papa, do you believe people can change? That is, given the right..." she thought about it. "Motivation."

Maurice looked at her for a moment. "I believe you can achieve anything if you put your mind to it," he said. "Even making a man out of that monster."

"How true."

Belle leapt to her feet at the sound of the voice in the doorway. "Gaston! What are you doing here?"

He gave a sinister smile. "It's like the old man said. I just... _put my mind_ to finding you."

Belle took a step forward. She was in no mood to humour the town hero today, especially not now that he had interrupted the reunion she had looked forward to. "Gaston, it's a pleasure as always, but perhaps whatever it is you want here can wait." She gestured pointedly at the door.

He ignored her, striding in. "You're right, Belle, it _is_ a pleasure. A pleasure not everyone gets to experience. I'm getting tired of waiting for you. The last time I let you play your games with me, you disappeared."

Belle drew a deep breath. "Gaston, I don't think you understand. I won't marry you. I wouldn't marry you if..." She thought of something he would value. "If your life depended on it."

Gaston thought about this. "So, you _still_ need a little persuasion." He sighed dramatically. "Well, _anything_ for the woman I love." And with that, he snatched the map from the table and strode out of the house again.

"He's enjoying this," Belle muttered.

Maurice got up and locked the door. "Well done," he said. "Why, I'd sooner you married the Beast himself than that arrogant, conceited..." He stopped himself.

Belle shuffled her feet, awkwardly. "Yes..."

Maurice stared at her. "He hasn't asked you as well, has he?"

She shook her head. "No, no. But..." She sat down. "Perhaps I'd better tell you the whole story."

So she told him everything. About what she'd heard at the doorway, about the fire, about how awful she felt about not being able to help.

"And how do you feel about him?" Maurice asked, gently.

She hesitated. "He's a good man," she said, slowly. "He doesn't deserve so much punishment. I wish there were something I could do."


	15. Unstoppable

Gaston glanced over his shoulder to check the men were still following him. Not that they'd even think of questioning him, of course, but it made him feel good to know they were there. It was power. He'd grown partially immune to it by now, but it still gave him a little thrill. And so what? Nothing wrong with being adored.

This was almost too easy. All he'd had to do was string together the few words he'd overheard by shamelessly listening in on Maurice's conversation with Belle – with mimes of fangs and claws for the stupider ones – and they'd been eating out of his hand. As always. He allowed himself a smirk. All this planning in just two days. Beauty _and_ brains. He really was perfect for Belle – or anyone else. Perhaps if Belle didn't see that, she wasn't worthy of him?

He shook his head briefly. _Of course_ she wasn't worthy of him. But who was? It was the tragedy of the perfect, he mused, that they would always be the only ones capable of appreciating their own brilliance. No, Belle was as good as he would find, so she would have to do. At least she was pretty.

He lifted the torch a little higher and touched the dagger in his belt. He could hardly believe his luck – but then, Luck was a lady. She probably had a thing for him. In any case, it would be easy. Just one night to solve the Belle problem. One little hunt, with forty-nine eager witnesses. His reputation would be sealed forever. So there was a Beast problem, eh? No problem. He was _Gaston –_ and he had a map. He was unstoppable.

* * *

Belle tapped the mysterious contraption with her index finger, warily. It stood about three feet high from the table and looked an awful lot like a large brass funnel suspended above a wooden arm that held three different paintbrushes. "What is it?"

Maurice beamed proudly. "I was going to give it to you for your birthday. It's a... well it's a..." He gestured at it. "Well, it's... one of those, really."

"What does it do?"

"It's _supposed_ to paint a picture of anything you ask it to." He looked at it, sadly.

Belle knew her father well. "What does it _actually_ do?"

"Occasionally," he said, optimistically. "It paints pictures. But there are one or two things that-"

"Belle! Maurice!" There were footsteps upstairs.

Belle groaned. It was Gaston, no mistaking it.

"Keep quiet," hissed Maurice. "I'll try and target him with the dirt-sucker." He turned and started fiddling with a large box with a tube sticking out of it. It looked a little like a cannon.

"What's that?"

"It's designed to making cleaning faster by sucking up dirt."

"That's ridiculous," Belle pointed out.

"I know. It doesn't work. But it does a good job of looking like a weapon."

"Oh," said Belle, which was all she really had time for. The door splintered, then Gaston apparently discovered the handle. The door swung open.

"Hello, Belle." Gaston smiled and his eyes gleamed with something Belle hadn't seen in him before.

"Gaston, I won't tell you again." Belle sounded more confident than she felt. She would have faced an angry Beast over a grinning Gaston any day. "Get out of my father's house."

"No need to be rude, Belle. I just thought you might like to know that tonight is the night you'll agree to marry me."

Belle shivered. "How do you know that?"

"Because all your dreams really are about to come true."

"Wh-what do you know about my dreams, Gaston?"

"Plenty." Gaston made himself comfortable on a table. This was the really ingenious part of the plan. He hadn't been completely wasting his time during Belle's disappearance. After LeFou had vaguely mentioned something about it, he had come up with the truly brilliant plan of paying a visit to the bookseller. Not that he wanted to look at any of those – he shuddered at the thought – _books_, but he thought it might help to find out more about what Belle thought her dreams were. After all, if she were a deer, he'd seek out her tracks. So he'd asked the man about her. A lot of what he'd said had been boring drivel, of course, but Gaston had caught the key phrases. _Handsome knight, daring rescue from unspeakably vile monster, happily ever after. _So _that_ was what she wanted. Well, there was no accounting for taste – and the opportunity had just dropped into his lap! He'd had some plan about the _Maison des Lunes_ in mind, too, but this one was much better.

"Gaston, believe me, I-"

"Picture this," he said. "A castle in the forest. A beautiful woman held prisoner by a hideous Beast. All hope seems lost. But then, a daring, dashing, almost _unbelievably handsome_ hunter rushes to her aid, slaying the creature and setting her free. They get married, have plenty of strong sons and the hunter never wants for a foot massage for the rest of his life." He grinned. "I know, it sounds too good to be true, doesn't it?"

Belle looked at Maurice. "Help!" she mouthed.

He didn't need telling twice. He quickly manoeuvred the dirt-sucker so that it was pointing at Gaston. The hunter froze, staring straight down the bewildering tube. There was a moment of silence.

"Leave," said Belle. "Now."

Gaston had no idea what he was looking at, but he wasn't willing to take any chances. "All right," he said, slowly. "I'll leave. But I'm taking you with me!" He lunged past the dirt-sucker, seizing Belle by the waist.

Maurice didn't hesitate. He was standing by the whatever-it-was he had been showing Belle when Gaston arrived. He grabbed the funnel, leaning towards it and shouting at loud as he could: "LOVING HATE!"

Gaston was confused enough to loosen his grip. Belle took advantage, pulling free of his grasp and running to join Maurice. The machine was starting to hiss and wisps of green and red smoke were curling gently from the sides of it.

Maurice drew breath. "TALKING CLOCKS!" he bellowed.

Belle began to catch on. "DANCING PLATES!"

"BRIGHT AS NIGHT!"

"DARK AS DAY!"

"HORN OF A LAMB!"

"SICKLE OF LEATHER!"

Gaston stared at them, genuinely bemused. Perhaps he should have taken the _Maison des Lunes_ option after all. They were both completely mad. He stood rooted to the spot, seriously considering the possibility that certain qualities might override Belle's beauty to make her unsuitable after all.

The machine was now surrounding itself completely in smoke. Maurice leaned over to whisper in Belle's ear.

"_Beauty of a Beast,_" he hissed.

The words seemed heavy. Belle felt as though they were trying to choke her from within. She nodded wordlessly, and the two of them made swiftly for the other side of the room, apparently unnoticed by Gaston.

* * *

Back at the castle, the servants were clustered around the magic mirror. No one knew where the Master had gone but it seemed, to Mrs Potts at least, that this was something he ought to be watching. Poor Belle – it was no wonder she loved her father so dearly. Her other experiences of men did not seem to have been at all pleasant.

A collective gasp had gone round the room when Gaston had seized her and the servants now stood utterly enthralled by the scene unfolding in Belle's cottage. Nothing, though, compared to the reaction to what happened next.

Belle and her father had moved to the door. Smoke from the machine was beginning to fill the room. The hunter stood as though dazed. Belle and Maurice looked at one another, nodded and – as though with one voice – cried out _"BEAUTY OF A BEAST!"_

The words were an interesting development in themselves, but what was slightly more attention-grabbing was the fact that they caused the machine to explode, taking part of the ceiling with it. Belle and Maurice slipped through the door leaving Gaston to snap out of it and take some sort of action. The mirror followed Belle as it had been instructed to do. She and Maurice ran without speaking to the yard, where Philippe was looking nervously at Gaston's enormous black stallion. Belle untied him and before long the two of them had mounted.

"_We don't have long." _The inventor's voice echoed around the room. _"He'll catch us up in no time."_

Belle's face was a grim mask of determination. _"We're going back," _ she said.


	16. Of the Essence

In the castle, a search party was hurriedly organised. The Master, it was felt, probably ought to be told about what they had seen. Particularly since it seemed there was a siege approaching. It was Lumière who found him. He was in the library, the last place one would normally look for him – but Lumière had had a hunch, and he was rarely wrong. Except possibly when it came to matters of arson, but that was perhaps best forgotten just now. In any case, just as he had suspected, the Master was sitting in the chair that had been occupied by Belle the day she left. He was squinting at a book, and his hunched figure and lowered head told Lumière that his mood was not improved.

"Master?" He was cautious in his approach; for one thing, Belle wasn't here to fight his corner.

The Beast looked up, sharply. "What?" he demanded, hostile at having been taken by surprise.

"Sorry to disturb you, Master, but..." He hesitated. "Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

The Beast turned to look out of the window at the setting sun. He was tempted to ask what the point was, but something stopped him. "Bad news," he sighed. It wasn't as though things could get any worse.

"The bad news," said Lumière, "is that the rather foul hunter Belle refused to marry is on his way to the castle to kill you."

The Beast was only just listening. "Ah. How do you know?"

"The magic mirror. Sir, the good news-"

"Yes?"

"Belle will get here first."

The Beast sat bolt upright. "She's coming back?"

Despite the tense situation, Lumière couldn't resist a smirk. "She did promise, Master..."

The Beast ignored him. "Tonight?"

* * *

Belle clung to Philippe, feeling the horse strain as she forced him to gallop faster than ever before. She hoped he could feel her urgency and that he would forgive her. The trees whizzed past on either side and she could hear Maurice muttering to himself behind her.

"Are you all right?" she called.

"Never better!" he replied, genially.

She screwed up her face, willing Philippe to use every vestige of strength he had. When the castle finally loomed into view, she realised she had been holding her breath.

"Woah!" she shouted, bringing Philippe to a halt. She dismounted as soon as possible, leaving Maurice to tether the horse. Without hesitation, she ran across the bridge and hammered on the huge doors. One swung open and she ran straight in. "Mrs Potts!" she yelled. "Lumière! Cogsworth! Chip! Babette!"

"Belle!" It was Mrs Potts. Belle had never seen a teapot so delighted. "How wonderful to see you!"

"Mrs Potts, listen to me. There's a man coming here – Gaston, a hunter. He's got all the men from the village coming to kill the Beast – I've got to warn him."

"Shh!" Mrs Potts said, soothingly. "We know all about it. Lumière's with the Master now. "

Belle was struck dumb for a moment. "You do?"

"It's a little complicated, dear, we'll explain later. Now, I think it was the library Lumière went to, perhaps you should-"

"Belle!" It was the Beast this time, standing at the top of the staircase. His voice echoed around the entrance hall.

"Beast," said Belle, feeling a little awkward about it.

Incredibly, he looked as though he was smiling. "You – you came back."

Belle looked away for a moment. "I gave my word," she said. "To my friends here." She gestured at the servants who were beginning to appear around her.

The Beast climbed silently down the stairs and came to stand in front of her. Their eyes met and each tried to read the other. "I missed you," he said, his voice so hoarse as to be barely audible.

Belle stared at him. It was slow, but there was a revelation blossoming in her mind. "I... missed you too," she said, slowly. And it was true. Despite his temper, despite his appearance, he was a good man and a good friend and she had missed his company. She smiled, reaching to take his paw.

Maurice burst in, about to say something. He was stopped short by what he saw, but it was the interruption Cogsworth had been waiting for.

"Terribly sorry to interrupt," he said. "But time is of the essence, and-"

Belle snapped her fingers, breaking whatever spell had been taking shape between her and the Beast. "I have a plan."

* * *

Gaston's scowl was matched only by that of his horse. Trophy took a grim satisfaction in a hunt, the faster the better.

Gaston himself was fuming. This wasn't going to plan. At no point had the bookseller mentioned that damsels in distress would enlist the help of their fathers to blow up the handsome rescuer. He'd give that scrawny bookworm a piece of his mind when he got back – but before then, he had some unfinished business to attend to.

He glanced over his shoulder. He was having to go at a frustratingly slow pace to allow the horseless peasants behind him to keep up – but the alternative was to go alone, and that didn't appeal. Not that he couldn't take this mysterious Beast alone, of course, but he didn't intend to do so without witnesses.

* * *

Back in the library, the Beast found himself on the edge of a large crowd around Belle. Pushed for time, she was quickly issuing orders to the servants, all of whom were ready and eager to listen after what she had achieved on the day of the fire. She was certainly better at this than he would ever be. He'd never had to issue orders in a crisis. Almost every order he had given had been pointless self-gratification.

He was definitely in love.

It was a suspicion that had been growing within him for a while. Even as he had tried to come to terms with the fact that she would never be able to set him free with her own love, he had been falling for her. She was beautiful, of course; by the enchantress' definition and every other. But more than that, she was the first person to earn his respect, the first person who had demanded to be treated as an equal. And he cared for her more than he had cared for anything in his life. More than he wanted to be human again. The feeling was the biggest he had ever felt and he wasn't sure the castle was large enough to contain it.

The servants had dispersed, and now it was just him and Belle. She turned to him and gave a genuine, if brief, smile.

"Your part is easy," she said.

"Is it?"

Maurice, who was standing watch just outside the door, poked his head into the room. "He's here," he hissed. A moment later, a cacophony of thumps backed up his story.

Belle nodded at the Beast, gesturing at the chair. "Have a seat," she said. "And do whatever you were doing before I got here." She turned, making for the steps that led to the higher shelves.

"What are you going to do?"

"Wait and see."

She hurried up the steps. Maurice dashed past as the Beast took his seat. He called him back.

"What is it?" the inventor asked, bewildered.

"I'm sorry I held you prisoner."

Maurice had a brief moment of incredulity, then grinned broadly. "Think nothing of it," he said, graciously. "All in the past."

"Thank you." He meant it, too.

Maurice, intrigued but in a hurry, dived behind the staircase. Something was about to begin.


	17. The Eleventh Hour

Gaston was further gratified to see that the door was wide open. He dismounted and let Lefou tether Trophy.

"Right," he said, addressing his forty-nine men. "I'll see you all back here in half an hour. Take whatever booty you can find, but remember – _the Beast is mine_."

This met with no arguments from the assembled villagers. As far as they were concerned, Gaston could take the Beast and welcome. They were only here for the loot – and possibly glory, if there was any going.

Gaston gave an unnerving smile and turned to face the open door. Without hesitation, he entered the castle, followed at a respectful distance by his comrades.

"_Bonjour_!" said a cheerful voice. Lumière would enjoy this.

Gaston whipped around. "Who's there?" he demanded, then, realising this sounded less brave than he had intended, added: "Come out and fight!"

"Ah, _Monsieur, _you wish to disturb the peace? I cannot interest you in a cup of tea?"

"Where are you?"

"To your left, _Monsieur_, but it is a great disappointment that you wish to fight. Could we not perhaps sit and talk about the ways of women and share stories of brave exploits? I am sure you are a man who has tales of both." Lumière smiled to himself. Belle's orders had been simple: use his vanity. It was not only his defining characteristic, but also his weakness.

Gaston blinked. This Beast was far more _suave_ than he had anticipated. That bookseller was going to get it in the neck, he really was. "I can't see you."

"Down a little, _monsieur_, I would not have you overestimate me."

Gaston looked down just as Lumière's right hand burst into flames. He set fire to the hunter's trousers and then beat the hastiest retreat of his life, laughing as he did so. If that wasn't using the man's vanity against him, nothing was.

Gaston screamed. It wasn't the first time he was lucky to have Lefou with him. Lefou had been drinking from a flask that, owing to a slight cashflow problem, was filled only with water. This was swiftly emptied over Gaston's lower body and no lasting harm was done where it mattered. He had dropped his torch and it had burnt out on the floor, leaving them in the dark and no closer to defeating the Beast.

The men gathered around him in the entrance hall. He had had enough of this. "Split up," he said. "Go wherever you want, do whatever you want." He narrowed his eyes. "I will find this Beast."

* * *

The Beast stared hard at the pages of Twelfth Night, making out odd words but generally making no sense of what the play was about. Not that it mattered. In reality, he was just distracting himself. The castle hadn't been invaded during his lifetime – or his father's, for that matter. Not since the castle at the kingdom's centre had been built to replace this one as the home of the reigning monarch, leaving this as the forgotten home of another strand of the royal family. People generally preferred to take their grievances straight to the top.

Further self-distraction. He couldn't help it. It was his twenty-first birthday. When he had left the West Wing over an hour ago, there had been only two petals left on the rose; for all he knew, they might both have fallen by now. In any case, even if his time were unlimited, he would be doomed. He loved Belle, and she would never return the feeling. He was doomed either way and resigned to it.

He could have done without the added pressure of having an angry hunter out for his blood, though. He had pictured the man in his mind: handsome, popular – everything that, in his present state, he was not. And Belle had refused him despite his lack of curse. Despite everything, he felt good about that. Belle had refused to love _him_ because of the terms of the curse. Belle's refusal of the hunter must have been entirely down to the man himself.

He focused on the Shakespeare again. Something about empty trunks and the devil. He held his breath. There were footsteps in the corridor outside.

* * *

Gaston marched purposefully along the corridor having convinced himself that he knew where he was going. In truth, the servants had locked all but one of the doors leading from the entrance hall, and all his men had gone directly upstairs to search for jewels or something.

There was movement beside him and he whipped out his knife. "Who's there?"

Babette swallowed her disgust, slipping behind a curtain. "A man!" she gasped. "A strong, handsome _man_!" She giggled. "_Monsieur_, tell me your name! Let me look into your deep, beautiful eyes and let you see into my soul!"

Gaston lowered the knife. It wasn't that this was new to him or anything, it just seemed a bit... out of context. Or would have done if he knew what context was. "Who are you?"

"I have had a hundred names, handsome hunter, but you may call me _Babette_."

"Babette," said Gaston, at his most charming. "Tell me where I can find the Beast."

Babette feigned girlish terror. "Oh, the Master would be so angry with me if I told you!" She pouted, even though he couldn't see her. "You will protect me, won't you?"

Gaston grinned. "Of course."

"All right," she said. "Follow the light."

"What light?" Gaston asked, just as a dozen candles burst into flame. Two mismatched rows of candlesticks lined the corridor. There was no sign of Babette. He shrugged, continuing along the corridor. The final candlestick stood beside a door. Gaston looked into the room. The last of the daylight came through huge windows and half-lit a room that seemed almost to be _made_ of books. His lip curled in disgust.

There was a shape silhouetted against one of the windows. A hunched figure in a chair. He replaced his dagger and reached instead for his bow. He would enjoy this.

With an arrow poised and ready to fire, Gaston stepped into the room. As he did so, chandeliers above him flickered into life and the full horror of the Beast was revealed. Fangs, claws and a raw, bald red patch on his chest.

"My," he said, taking a step forward. "You _are_ hideous!"

He was talking for his own benefit, of course. The creature was just that – an animal. But... Gaston's heart skipped a beat as he realised what the Beast had been doing. He was _reading_.

The Beast gently laid 'Twelfth Night' to one side and regarded the invader with a strange sort of calmness. He knew this man, perhaps better than Gaston himself did. He knew him, because Gaston was the man he would have become. A peasant, yes, but there are ways in which princes and peasants have never differed. Gaston was the selfish, vain, arrogant man that the young prince would have grown up to be, had the enchantress not intervened. They were alike in age, the two of them. Alike in almost everything.

He might have been prepared to die at this man's hands. He dreaded the thought of living a lifetime as a Beast, as hopeless and helpless as he had been before Belle came. If the hunter had come and Belle had not, he might simply have given up. He was needed by no one. But Belle, even though she would live the rest of her life in freedom, had promised to visit. That would be something to live for. He couldn't keep her forever, couldn't stop her marrying a man who deserved her and living her life as she was supposed to. He would be torturing himself for the rest of his life, but it would be worth it. She wouldn't love him, but she might give him the odd smile and mourn him when he died. It was morbid, but it was a thought that had pursued him for years: would his death be of any consequence? The answer had always been that without him, the servants would be cursed forever, so he had left it at that. But once the curse was permanent, it would make no difference. Without Belle, Gaston could simply kill him here and be done with it. As it was...

Gaston thought quickly. There was something wrong here. He had expected the creature to be some strange monster he had never seen or hunted before. Belle was unlikely to have been held prisoner by a deer, after all. But he had not anticipated that there would be anything human about it, and it was sitting in a chair and reading. He levelled an arrow at it. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The creature gave him a long, sad look. "I am the Beast," it sighed.

Gaston fought to control himself. It had spoken! For a moment, he doubted his quest. Could he kill something that spoke with a human voice?

Then he thought about the forty-nine men upstairs. He thought about the tavern full of trophies and endless adoration. He thought about Belle and marriage and the explosion. She had humiliated him twice – and left him with the word 'Beast' still ringing in his ears. His mind closed itself to rational thought. The hunt was on.


	18. The Final Petal

The Beast stood slowly, his chest aching. He was unprepared for this, he realised. He had no idea how to read the hunter – and no choice but to try.

Above them, Belle watched almost without breathing. She had been confident before, but now she was worried. She offered a silent prayer to anyone who might be listening. The Beast was powerful, but he was unarmed. Gaston was unbeaten in combat and he had killed more animals than anyone in the villages for miles around. She would rather die herself than have the Beast killed in Gaston's misguided attempt to win her hand.

Gaston fired an arrow at the Beast's chest, but he moved in time and it struck his shoulder instead. He yelped and pulled it out. Blood matted his fur, but it wasn't serious. He lunged for Gaston, catching his arm and pulling it behind his back. Painful, but harmless. The Beast was at a disadvantage purely because he didn't really want to injure Gaston. The hunter had no such problems. With his free hand, he reached for his knife, slashing the palm of one of the Beast's paws. The Beast deftly knocked the weapon from his hand.

Gaston had dropped his bow, so things were a little more evenly-matched now; Gaston's homicidal mania making up for his lack of claws. The two faced one another, preparing to strike. Belle could feel her muscles tensing as she watched.

The hunter was the first to move. Without warning, he launched himself forward. Taken by surprise, the Beast overbalanced and fell to the floor. They took it in turns to pin one another to the ground, Gaston making a grab for the Beast's throat.

Belle's time had come. "Gaston!" she shouted, as loud as she could. It was enough of a distraction – it took him a moment to find her, which was long enough. The Beast pushed him off and beat a retreat to the edge of the room. Around Gaston, a ring of cutlery advanced, menacingly.

"Belle!" Gaston was pleased to see her. He had suspicions and, if they proved correct – as his suspicions always did – then he would be able to work this situation to his advantage.

Belle walked down the stairs, careful not to hurry too much. "What are you doing here, Gaston?"

"It's called a rescue, Belle. Sit back and enjoy it."

"Tell me, Gaston, how can you be rescuing me when I'm free?"

Gaston frowned. The flaw in his plan had been uncovered. But he had easily justified it to himself, Belle was just another step. "You were home with your father, true. But I could tell that this monster still had some hold over you."

Belle looked away for a moment to hide an involuntary smile. "That's probably true."

"You see?" He was triumphant. "I want you to be free _forever_."

"Doubtful, Gaston. Very doubtful."

"Belle, if I didn't know better, I-" He cast a look behind him. The Beast was gazing at Belle as though nothing else mattered. "I'd say you had _feelings_ for this monster."

A growl slipped from the Beast's throat unbidden. All eyes were on Belle.

She had heard enough. She seized the heaviest volume from the shelf beside her and looked down at Gaston with more anger than she had ever felt before. "He's my friend, Gaston. I don't have to be in love with him to see him for who he is." And before he could reply, she hurled the book with all the strength she could muster. It caught his head with a sickening _crack_ and he collapsed on the floor.

The Beast looked up as Belle ran down the stairs, two at a time. "Good throw," he said, genuinely impressed.

She beamed at him. "Thank you!" She joined him by the fallen hunter, dropping to her knees for a closer look. She touched Gaston's forehead. It was already starting to swell. "He's going to have a beauty of a bruise," she murmured.

"So he's not...?"

Belle shook her head. "He'll be fine," she said. "We probably just wounded his pride." She stood up, looking at his bleeding hand and shoulder. "Are you all right?"

He nodded, looking down at Gaston. "You hate him, don't you?"

Belle sighed. "I don't _hate_ him. I hate his arrogance and the way he treats people he thinks are less worthy than him. But... I don't _hate __him_."

"I see." He turned abruptly away. There was a pause, then he felt her hand on his arm.

"You're better than he is," she said, quietly.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not. I've been everything you dislike in him. If I'm any different, it's because of the curse. And – and you."

Belle swallowed, looking from him to Gaston and back. "Listen," she said, looking levelly at the Beast. "I've known Gaston for years. In that time, he has never asked a question he wanted to hear my answer to. He's never apologised to anyone and he's certainly never done anything I could respect him for." She squeezed his unbloodied hand. "You can't change people unless they want to change."

He looked into her brown eyes, feeling the sincerity radiating from them. The words were going to burst from him in a shout if he didn't say it now. "Belle, I-"

"Master!" It was Cogsworth. "The rose, it-" But he in turn was interrupted.

"Beast!" Belle had released his hand and was staring behind him.

He whirled around. Gaston was awake and he had regained his knife. Thanks to Belle's warning, the Beast was ready for him, leaping quickly out of reach.

Had Gaston's aim been true, he would have slashed uselessly at the air. Unfortunately, he was still dazed from the book and could barely tell up from down. The attack had been fuelled by adrenaline and his aim had been appalling. The knife caught Belle across the side of her body, scoring a line between her ribs and pelvis. She screamed, doubling over in pain. A cold, sickly feeling took hold of her and a moment later, she blacked out. The Beast caught her as she fell. Blood soaked his arms.

In actual fact, she had been lucky. Gaston had taken a swipe with the dagger – with a stab, the blade would have entered her body and caused serious harm. As it was, it was a deep flesh wound, which is by no means to say it didn't hurt.

The Beast sank to his knees, clutching her to his chest. She was still wearing her cloak, and he used it to bind her waist as tight as possible to stop the bleeding. This was wrong. This shouldn't have happened.

Gaston looked on in utter horror. Belle's blood dripped from his knife. He couldn't believe what he'd done. "Is she... Did I...?" He couldn't ask the question.

The Beast looked up at him, darkly. "She should survive," he said, bitterly, swallowing tears. "But if she doesn't, then for once in your miserable life you can do what you should and kill me as well."

Gaston shook his head, letting the knife fall from his hand. It clattered on the floor, smearing blood. "It wasn't my fault," he said, his own voice sounding distant. "It was an accident – in fact, I wasn't even holding the knife!" His eyes were wide and hollow and he extended a finger, pointing at the Beast. "You did it. I saw the whole thing. I tried my best to stop you, but... you tricked me. You tricked Belle too – made her trust you and then... then you almost killed her." He shook his head, staring at the Beast. "It was _you_."

He ran from the room, shouting for the men to come quickly. The Beast lowered his head and held Belle's limp form as though he would never let go. The servants stood helplessly around him. Mrs Potts felt a single tear roll down her cheek. Cogsworth listened to the ticking of time and felt a sadness he had never known before. Above them, the final petal detached itself from the rose and floated gently downwards.


	19. Changes

Gaston walked back along the corridor with single-minded determination. It was all right, he told himself. He had done nothing wrong. It was that _monster_. Why, Belle could be dying, and it was all the fault of the Beast. Oh, this would be a story to tell: the day Gaston, the people's hero, was to slay the creature that had been responsible for the death of the woman he loved.

If Belle died. Better to keep both possible outcomes in mind.

Gaston was a practised self-delusionist. It was true that, as he stared at the bloody knife, he had felt a twinge of horror. But now he was entrenched in the idea that he was blameless and nothing would move him from the conviction. The truth was that no one would ever really know what feats Gaston had really performed in his lifetime; how many of the oft-told tales of daring had, in reality, been gory disasters. Men have died of guilt for lesser crimes than Gaston had performed, but Gaston himself would have sneered at them. Gaston wasn't merely egotistical. He was firm in the belief that he was flawless and content in his state of delusion. It is a genetic trait that has always been favoured by the laws of human evolution.

He staggered out to the entrance hall where his followers had assembled. A gasp rippled around the room as they noted his unstable gait and bruised forehead.

"Come quick," he said, loudly. "I think he's killed her."

* * *

In the library, the Beast stared down at the motionless form in his arms. He was distantly aware that he was crying – more emotion than he could remember showing since infancy. "Belle," he said, softly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything." He cradled her in his lap, gently stroking her hair. "I – I'd do anything for you, Belle." The unfairness of it swept over him until he felt he could drown in it. She had been kinder to him than he deserved, and now she had suffered a wound that was meant for him. He closed his eyes and held her tight. "I love you," he whispered. There, he'd said it. It would do him no good, but he had said it. He loved her. He _loved _ her. And he would never have been able to tell her if her eyes had been open.

From the doorway, Cogsworth coughed. "Sir," he said, speech catching in his throat. "He's coming back. And he's not alone."

The Beast shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said. "Nothing does."

It was at that moment that Gaston made his second entrance, this time accompanied by numerous angry peasants who clustered in the doorway and carrying a sword that he'd stolen from an indignant suit of armour.

"Get away from her, _Beast._" His voice was loaded with disdain. "You've caused her enough suffering already."

For a moment, the Beast wondered if he was right. Would Belle be better off if he just left her alone?

Maurice held his daughter's hand and turned to face Gaston. His opinion of the Beast had increased with Belle's account of what had passed between them, and a good many doubts had been crushed by his confession of love. He could see that the young man – for such he knew him now to be – had little courage left. He should not have to fight alone. "Gaston!" the inventor shouted. "It's you who's done more damage than you're worth. I saw what you did to my daughter. The Beast is innocent."

Gaston was not more than passingly concerned. "Ignore him," he said, barely sparing Maurice a glance. "The old man's a loon."

Maurice winced. If he made it back to the village, he was going to have to work on his social skills.

"Thank you," said the Beast, quietly.

Maurice shrugged. "It was worth a try."

The Beast stared at Gaston. "What do you want?"

Gaston spread his hands, gesturing with the sword, answering in the tone one might use to announce an intention to take a walk in the countryside. "I want to kill you."

Exactly what happened next was something of a blur. Gaston, though swordplay was not one of his strong points, was able to put up a good fight against someone who didn't have a sword at all, and the Beast's side of the battle quickly became a question of ducking, dodging and moving backwards. This had been going on for some time when he realised that he had been forced almost to the level of the highest shelf. He'd never been here before. The floor seemed a long way down.

Their altitude seemed to unnerve Gaston, too. After a particularly violent swipe, he lost his grip on the sword. It fell to the floor with alarming speed and landed with an ear-spitting _clang_.

Maurice was the first to notice Belle awakening. Her hand, which he still held in his own, twitched slightly. He looked down and saw her eyes flicker open.

"Wh-what's happening?" she asked, staring up at him.

He pointed, wordlessly, at the two figures above them, now struggling in unarmed combat. Belle instantly forgot the pain from her wound as she gazed in horror. They were as evenly matched as before, but if one were to make a false move, it would be a long way to fall.

As she watched, dim recollections swirled in her mind. Words in the darkness. The Beast had spoken to her. For a moment, she had been in a place where only the two of them existed, and he had spoken to her. She could hear his voice repeating the words in her head, but she couldn't tell if it was real or imagined. Which would she prefer?

She looked around. Everyone in the room had frozen, their eyes locked onto the fight. Belle stared up at the Beast, trying to guess what he was thinking. It didn't look good. Gaston had gained a lot of ground, it wouldn't be long before something terrible happened. The Beast suddenly seemed so small, so much less threatening than she had known him to be. She closed her eyes and wished for a miracle.

At first she thought the bright white light that seemed to shine through her eyelids was a sign that she had fainted again, and she cursed herself for it. Then, as it faded, she realised that she was thinking too much to be unconscious, and opened her eyes. Where there had been two figures in a duel to the death, there were now three standing more or less motionless. A woman had appeared beside them.

The Beast dropped to his knees. He recognised her at once – it could be no one else. She was a decade older and, though she was still beautiful, a kind of weariness had crept across her features. He bowed before her as he had done all those years ago, too late.

Behind him, Gaston began to edge back towards the stairs. The Enchantress looked at him for a moment as though contemplating an action, then turned her attention to the Beast.

"My, my," she said, clicking her tongue. "Is this a prince I see before me?" Her voice had a strange, echoing quality to it. Her words almost painted themselves onto the mind. She was, in the true sense of the word, _unforgettable_.

The Beast wasn't sure whether a response was required, so he decided to play it safe and say nothing.

She touched his head with a pale, slender finger. "You've changed a lot," she said, almost to herself – though no matter how quietly she spoke, all those in the library would have been able to hear her. "You're not who you were going to be."

This shouldn't have made sense, but it did. The Beast lifted his head to look at her. She had pale green eyes that seemed to look straight through him.

She smiled. "Where's the girl?"

The Beast turned as though shaken out of a daze. _Belle!_ He looked down. She was awake, staring up at him with a look of interested bewilderment. Then she screamed. The Beast turned around to find Gaston running towards him. Startled, he braced himself and pushed him away. Gaston staggered, slipped and fell.

The Beast's eyes widened. "No!" he gasped. He hadn't meant to harm him.

The Enchantress flicked her fingers, absently. Gaston's potentially bone-shattering fall was broken ten feet from the ground. He hung in the air, suspended by the magic force she had deployed.

"Dear me," she said, a glint in her eye. "That was nearly a nasty accident, wasn't it?"

The Beast's heart sank. He didn't think he could cope with another curse.

"Now, dear prince, I have one or two matters to discuss with you. However, first things first – what shall I do with this fine specimen?" She raised her index finger, lifting Gaston back up to her eye level. She looked pensive for a moment, then said to the Beast "Are those his sheep?" She was gesturing at the villagers.

The Beast frowned, confused. "Uh..."

"I thought so. Be warned, we're about to..."

Whatever else she had been going to say was rendered useless, because the next moment she, the Beast and Gaston were all back at ground level. Belle stood up unsteadily and walked over to the Beast, touching his arm.

"I was worried," she whispered, judging that the Enchantress was suitably absorbed in what she was doing, which was looking thoughtfully from Gaston to his followers and back again.

He looked at her bloodstained hand. "So was I."

She pointed at the Enchantress. "Is that...?"

"Yes, that's her."

Belle peered at her with interest. So, _that_ was an Enchantress. She could almost feel the woman's power and it intrigued her. A real Enchantress! A couple of months ago, this would have seemed impossible. Now she was willing to believe almost anything.

Her legs gave way without warning and the Beast caught her.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm tired," she said. "I'll be fine."

He was about to insist that she sit down again when the Enchantress addressed her.

"Belle, isn't it?"

"Yes," she said, adding a curtsey and "my lady" for cautionary purposes.

The Enchantress smiled. "It's all right, sweet, I already know your heart is good. It's only problem cases like your friend there that need to show respect."

Belle smiled nervously.

"Take my hand," said the Enchantress, softly, holding it out.

Belle looked at the Beast, who nodded. She accepted the hand. It felt soft and cool, and each of the fingers sent a strange, tingly feeling up her arm.

The Enchantress indicated Gaston, who was writhing uselessly in magical bonds. "How would you punish him?"

"For what?"

"Anything. Pick a flaw."

Belle frowned. "I... I'm not sure I could."

Her expression gave nothing away. "Go on."

"Well... his flaws are part of his character. You can't punish someone for being who they are." She hesitated, aware that the Enchantress probably could. "What I mean is – it wouldn't work. You'd have to make him want to change."

"For that is the only way for change to happen." She gave Belle a smile that seemed to transmit happiness. "You're absolutely right, sweet. With punishment for his flaws, I could teach him to behave himself to avoid further punishment. But to make him change his ways, I'd have to show him why that's what he wants."

"So the curse..."

"...Was a sort of punishing persuasion tactic, yes. I'll come to that in just a moment." She turned to Gaston. The magic released him, allowing him to drop unceremoniously to the floor. "You should know," she said. "That a very good friend of mine recently turned a man like you into a frog."

Gaston visibly paled. "No! I beg you, please, I'll do anything..."

The Enchantress rolled her eyes. "They always beg _afterwards,_" she said, to no one in particular. "If they'd get it out of the way first, it'd save a lot of time." She looked at Gaston. "Save your breath, coward. The other frogs would have you for breakfast, which would be a waste of my valuable time. No, I've decided not to turn you into anything. I know why you brought these men with you. You wanted them as witnesses. They've witnessed everything, Gaston, and they've made up their own minds about you. You can try if you like, but I think your village might be in the market for a new hero." She pointed at Maurice. "He'd do nicely, if you can persuade him."

Gaston scoffed, but his nervousness showed. "Can you believe this nonsense?" he demanded of his crowd.

There was a general muttering in the crowd. They had been given much to think about in the last few minutes. The hunt had become combat between two men, and Gaston had not precisely played fair. And something about that Enchantress was very convincing. She wasn't at all like any of the witches they'd burnt.

One of the men narrowed his eyes at Gaston. "Actually," he said, "I do. All those who are with me?"

"I am!"

"I am!"

"I am!"

The cry was taken up. Within moments, the men had turned away from Gaston with looks of disgust and left the room.

The Enchantress looked at him, gravely "They're not your sheep any more, Gaston."

Gaston stared at the ground. "What do I have to do?" he asked, his voice hollow. "How can I win them back?"

"That's an easy one," she replied. "Start from the ground up. Earn the respect of your fellows, don't demand it. Take an interest in others if you want them to take an interest in you. Oh," she added. "And stop proposing to Belle, there's a good fellow."

"Gaston?" It was Lefou. He had remained behind when the others left. He knew Gaston needed him and also that he would be reluctant to admit it.

"Yes?"

"Would you like me to stay or go?"

Gaston swallowed anger. "We'll go together," he muttered. The two men left without looking back.

The Enchantress sighed. "Sometimes I think it's wrong to just change those that need changing. I wish I could reward those around them."

Belle thought of the servants. "Can't you?"

She shook her head. "It's not what we're here for. Once upon a time, yes, we rewarded the patient and gentle. Now it's all we can do to teach people the error of their ways." She looked wistful for a moment, then returned to business. "Right. I needed to talk about this curse, didn't I?"

She released Belle's hand, and Belle noticed that the pain from her wound seemed reduced so much that it seemed nothing more than a graze. She sat down again, worried that her legs would fail her. Maurice laid a hand on her shoulder. They were only spectators in this.


	20. The End

The Enchantress had moved to the middle of the library to address all those assembled there. "I'm sure don't need to remind you of the terms of the spell. There's no point in beating about the bush – the last petal fell from the rose over half an hour ago."

There was a collective gasp. Though nobody had voiced it, every one of the servants had begun to share the hope that the girl might save them after all. The Master loved her and had said as much. But it seemed now that it had been too little too late.

Belle was puzzled. "Petals?" she asked Maurice in a low voice.

The Enchantress looked at her. She seemed to have remarkably good hearing. "You don't know about the rose? It was a timing device, sweet. Think about well-known curses through history – they have to have a time limit. Maleficent's cursing of the baby princess Aurora is a benchmark, really. My tutor was very impressed when he heard. A hundred years – that was a _very_ good curse for its age." She sighed. "Of course, it was a curse made improperly because it had no basis in change. Maleficent was just vindictive."

Belle stared at her. It was one thing to meet someone who even _knew_ these old stories, quite another to find that they were real.

"Anyway," the Enchantress continued, briskly. "I gave your friend here ten years and a magic rose as a marker. His time ran out earlier this evening."

The Beast was looking down. Belle tried to read his expression but she couldn't. She stood up and went once more to stand beside him.

"What does that mean?" she asked the Enchantress.

"Well, I'm afraid it means that the curse is now permanent and I can't lift it. At least for him." She looked at the servants, who were regarding one another miserably. "I've got a bit of a confession to make," she announced. "Ten years ago I was still an apprentice. In order to complete my apprenticeship, I was given one task." She pointed at the Beast. "Him. He had a file from here to next Tuesday, all the usual spoilt prince stuff. It was nice and easy, actually, but I messed it up." She blushed, suddenly looking like a guilty teenager. "I don't know how best to explain this, but... I was only supposed to curse _him_. Young Enchantresses often have magic surges that they can't control and – I got the rest of you with residual magic. It's complicated. I went back to my tutor expecting him to shout at me about all the time he'd have to spend cleaning up the mess I'd made and instead he handed me my new wand. Apparently he thought it was a stroke of genius." She sighed. "Anyway, I came back a year later and I realised that having the lot of you included in the curse could well be a force for good. Guilt was a good motivation for your Master. At the same time, though, I could see we were in for a long haul with him, since a year as a Beast had barely changed him. So I cast a spell. From then on, you stopped ageing. I realise that's hard for crockery, cutlery and furniture to quantify, but you may appreciate it in a moment. You've spent ten years under the curse but you can have those years back. You see, _your_ part of the spell I can completely reverse."

For the most part, the Enchantress' speech had been quite unintelligible. This part, though, they understood. Freedom!

She smiled, raising her hands above her head. Between them, a ball of light began to grow, getting bigger and brighter with each passing second. A moment later, she hurled it into the midst of the assembled servants.

Belle jumped in surprise, looking at the Beast for reassurance.

"It's all right," he said, though it sounded as though he were having trouble getting the words out. "Watch."

Belle turned and watched. The servants were engulfed in light, now, light that seemed to be rising. As she watched, she saw feet and hands form, bodies stretch and grow, and all their expressions were of bliss. As the light faded, she saw that where there had once been dozens of objects, there were now beaming, delighted people. And she recognised them, too – there were Lumière and Babette, already wrapped around one another. Mrs Potts looked down at her little boy, Chip, and Madame twirled long tresses of blonde hair in her hands. Belle felt herself smiling – they were free. On an impulse, she ran to them, touching the human hands of her friends, throwing her arms around them.

After a few moments of blurred embraces, however, she turned back to face the Beast. He stared at her with an expression so forlorn that she felt suddenly as though she were about to cry.

"Enchantress!" she cried out, running to her.

"What is it, sweet?"

"Is there nothing you can do for him?"

The Enchantress looked at her carefully for a moment. "The curse could only be broken according to the terms I gave him. He had to learn to love by the time the last petal fell – and the love needed to be returned."

Tears stung Belle's eyes. It wasn't fair. He was good. She had been his only chance and it was through no fault of his that she had sworn not to love him. It wasn't fair that everything had rested on her. "It's my fault!" she blurted, suddenly.

The Beast stepped forward. "Belle-!"

"It's true!" Belle was crying now. "It's my fault that I was sneaking around and listening at doorways. It's my fault that I misjudged you and wouldn't give you a chance." She turned back to the Enchantress. "Please," she said, more quietly. "There has to be something."

The Enchantress didn't respond immediately. She looked at Belle and the Beast for a moment. Then she moved to stand in front of the Beast, looking into his eyes. She formed the question in her mind. _What do you want?_

She stared at him for what seemed like an age, then smiled. "I think we can work something out." She snapped her fingers, producing a long, thin wand. She twirled it absently, thinking out loud. "I can't remove the curse, but I can change it. You see, when I chose your new shape, I took it from the monster inside you. I've seen the state of the future as it would have been if things had continued as they were, and fanged and hairy doesn't begin to cover it, believe me. However, if something were to weaken the curse, a bit of magic might see to it that your status became a little less... solid. That is, I can make it so that you will appear as you truly are. If you are not at all altered, we will see no change in your appearance." She turned to Belle. "What do you think?"

Belle's eyes glittered with tears. "He's beautiful," she whispered, loud enough only for the Enchantress.

"Right, that settles that, then." The Enchantress lifted her wand, facing the Beast. "You see, the curse _is_ weakened. I trust you remember what you said to Belle before she awoke?"

He froze. "How did you...?"

"Word gets around," she said, dismissively. "Anyway, that did the trick. Are you prepared to face the consequences of this spell?"

He swallowed, still not sure if he should allow himself to believe what was happening. "I am."

"Good," she said, and shot a jet of light at him.

Belle looked on in amazement. This transformation was not like that of the servants. No engulfing in light or dramatic twisting and changing. He just sort of... shimmered. She blinked – and the Beast had become a man.

"I've removed the perception barriers," the Enchantress told Maurice, conversationally. "Unbound by conventions of optical illusion, you can now see him for what he really is."

The Prince took a moment to register what had happened. He looked at Belle to find that she was staring at him, shocked. He looked down. Human hands, pink and furless. He looked at his bare chest. It was rippled with scars from the fire, but it was unmistakably human. He touched his face. Human, all of it!

"Come on," said Mrs Potts. "Let's give them some privacy."

Belle and the Prince looked at one another as the servants filed out into the corridor, followed by Maurice and the Enchantress, who were suddenly deep in conversation. Suddenly, they were alone.

"H-how do I look?" he asked, falteringly.

She nodded. "Good. Handsome." She looked away.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm happy for you."

He took her hand. "Belle, I don't know how I can can ever thank you enough. You've saved me twice, I owe you everything."

She looked up. His eyes were the same, she noticed. Bright and blue. "I was glad to help you." She drew her hand back and noticed that she had managed to smear her blood on him. "What did you say to me after ..." She gestured at the patch of blood on her dress.

He blushed. "I... well – n-nothing."

"Oh," she said, and turned away. "I'll go and find my father. We might make it home before..."

He closed his eyes for a moment. "Belle," he said to her retreating back. "I love you."

For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him. Then she turned on her heel and ran toward him. She threw her arms around him and they embraced. "I love you too," she whispered in his ear.

This surprised him. He pushed her away, gently. "You do?"

"Yes," she said, slightly bemused. "How long have you loved me?"

He thought about it. "I think," he said, slowly, "that it really started when you pointed out that I behaved like a monster towards my servants." He frowned. "That's a bit odd, isn't it?"

Belle shrugged. "Most things are."

"How about you? How long have you loved me?"

"I don't know," she confessed. "I just realised that if anything bad happened to you, I'd be miserable for the rest of my life."

There was a voice from the doorway. "Well, thank heaven for that." It was Cogsworth. Lumière, Babette and Mrs Potts were clustered round him.

"_Dieu_, I thought the Master would never get his act together!" Lumière commented. "It would have been too obvious for him to declare his love before now and save us all a lot of worry, _non_?"

"Oh, Lumière," sighed Mrs Potts. "You know the course of true love doesn't run smooth."

Chip peeped into the room. "Mama?"

"Yes, Chip?"

"Is the curse broken now? Forever?"

"Yes, love. Unless the Master goes back to his old ways." She glanced at the Prince. "If he does that, who knows what he'll become."

"Which is why," said Cogsworth, addressing Belle, "it is our fervent hope that _mademoiselle_ can be persuaded to stay with us for some time."

Belle shrugged. "I'll stay if my father can." She turned to the Prince. "That is, if you want me to."

"I do," he answered. "More than anything else."

"Then I'll stay."

The Prince, after watching some elaborate miming from Lumière, knelt before Belle. If this wasn't a good moment, he didn't know what would be. "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," she said, holding his hand, tightly. "I will."

It was an inauspicious ending, compared to what might have been. It was the Enchantress' custom to include fireworks for the end of her spells, so they had missed out on something there. Overall, though, those concerned agreed that they were more than happy than the way things had come together. The reappearance of the missing prince was greeted throughout the kingdom with comments along the lines of "Did he now? You know, I was never sure if it was Emeric's nephew or Emile's cousin that disappeared. Maybe they're the same person."

The wedding was a quiet affair, followed by an almost obscenely sumptuous ball at which Belle was introduced to the Prince's relations, a few of whom he had actually met himself. Cogsworth worked himself up into an unprecedented frenzy over the whole thing and Lumière bought him a new watch to remember it by.

Maurice divided his time between his daughter and his inventions, successfully inventing an infinitely useful Thing that was able to reduce the impact of the explosions caused by his attempts to invent other Things. This was heralded as a great success until it blew itself up.

Gaston wasn't seen in his hometown for over a year. When he returned, he was married with an infant son and able to converse with his fellows on such subjects as marital friction and projectile vomiting. He was present at several Enchantress sightings and appeared to have all the adoration he needed, mixed with the odd well-timed slap from his wife.

The prince and princess honoured their vows to love one another for the rest of their lives. Occasionally their tempers and shared stubbornness would cause arguments, but since the Prince began to grow claws if he remained in the wrong when it mattered, disputes were easily solved. For the most part they lived, as Chip suggested at their wedding ball, happily ever after.

**The End**


End file.
